Fly Away Home
by CrepuscularSnidget
Summary: The story of the Quell you never heard about. Welcome to the 38th Hunger Games.
1. Reaped

The Capitol girl leans back against the leather chair and fingers her bright pink hair. It was looking a little faded, she thinks. Time for a new color. Maybe purple? And perhaps she can finally convince her mother to let her have dragonfly wings.

Aimlessly, she flicks the television on. That's right, she remembers. Time to start the 38th Hunger Games. Last year was kind of lame. The arena was just a forest and it was over way to fast.

She leans forward to see the president come on. He's looking kind of old, she thinks. Maybe he'll die soon. That might be interesting. She plays with the tiger skin pillow on the couch as the president clears his throat.

Mayor Tufts of District 9 is worried. Because he can't control his citizens, as the president told him to. Because he hears whispers, not just among the servants but among the people, of rebellion. That the districts might revolt again.

He tries; really he does, to keep his district under control. But the Capitol isn't happy, and when the Capitol isn't happy, heads roll. So he squeezes his pudgy hands together as the president announces what is going to happen.

"Greetings, citizens of Panem. It seems that some of you do not wish to remain…beloved…citizens of Panem. This would be a grave mistake." The president steps back from the microphone and surveys the crowd. "It would rip your families apart. And to show you just how catastrophic this would be, we have planned a special…twist…for the 38th Hunger Games."

Mayor Tufts lets out a tiny squeak of fear.

"To show you, our beloved citizens, how deadly a rebellion might be, the closest male relative of the female tribute will enter the Games with her, regardless of age. But to show the Capitol's unending mercy, we will permit two winners of the 38th Hunger Games, provided they are from the same district."

Mayor Tufts slumps to the floor.

Lydia smoothes down the coverlet on the bed. She has to get it ready for the poor tribute kids who will be arriving soon. In a way, they're lucky. It will be over soon for them. But not for her. The mangled stump of her tongue is a constant reminder of what happened that day.

She's sneaking glances at the reapings on TV as she works. In the Career districts, the pairs of tributes let out roars of excitement as they are reaped. In the other districts, the tributes bravely cling to each other.

Poor kids.

Poor stupid, cursed kids.

Vidia Deeps adjusts her sparkling blue hat as she prances onto the stage in District 9. This is what she lives for. She has to see these kids as tributes, here today and gone tomorrow, or else she will lose her mind.

Beaming, she waves to the crowd. "Isn't this exciting? Two victors! Are you ready?"

She thrusts her hand into the reaping bowl, reaching for the slip at the bottom like she always does. She rubs the slip with two fingers—_please don't let her be twelve like the last one—_and opens it.

"Oriole Whittaker! And the closest relative is…Henry Whittaker! How exciting! Come on up, you two!"

District 9 forms a pathway for the two tributes. Siblings. The girl is older, with wavy red-gold hair, and the boy, shuffling behind her, has dark brown hair.

As the girl strides up to the stage, the people of District 9 can easily see the expression on her face.

_Oh, HELL, no._


	2. Twists

The only thing better than being in a fight to the death is being in a fight to the death with your brother.

Right now, he's got his nose pressed up against the window of the train, probably leaving greasy smears. Typical Henry.

Aimee Lydico, our mentor, is glancing between us like she can't believe this is happening. I can't either. I also can't believe that Vidia's hair is bright yellow.

"So." Aimee clears her throat. "This is…new."

I can't quite remember how Aimee won her Games. She sure doesn't look like a victor. She's petite, with blonde hair and sparkly green eyes. But she did.

Lucas Marsh, on the other hand, is definitely a victor. He's huge and freckled, and well, kind of cute. And he's only two years older than me. But he's a victor and I'm about to die, and if that isn't a roadblock, then I don't know what is.

Henry leans back from the window. "I think it's just stupid. It's not even a Quarter Quell year."

Aimee wrinkles her nose. "We've only had one. That was interesting."

It was—I've seen the replays. Besides the very first Games, it's the most commonly played. I pitied the tributes who were in it. The train, and the duel, not to mention the mutts.

"The Capitol's just bored after last year," I say. "And when the Capitol gets bored, the districts pay."

"You might not want to talk like that in the Capitol, Oriole," Aimee says pointedly.

I roll my eyes and fiddle with the tablecloth. It's got intricate embroidery of vines and squirrels. How idyllic. I'm sure every child sent on this train to die has appreciated it.

Lucas clears his throat. "Let's talk strategy."

"Yeah!" Henry leans on the table. "Can we watch your Games?"

"Henry!" I elbow him, hard. "You can't just _ask _people that. It's bad."

Lucas looks from me to Henry. "I only show my Games to tributes."

"Because they're going to die anyways." The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Lucas shrugs. "Basically."

"Let's not talk about dying just yet," Vidia chirps. "Let's talk about your interview! And your outfits!" Aimee shoots her a nasty look.

Henry groans. "I don't think a _costume _is going to help me stay alive."

Vidia straightens up. "It earns you sponsors," she says primly, "which could very well mean the difference between life and death."

Aimee clears her throat. "We'll talk about that once we reach the Capitol. Right now we're going to watch the Reapings. I want you to talk notes and tell me who the most dangerous ones are."

"And then we'll tell you why you're wrong," Lucas says, grinning. Aimee glares at him. "Ready?" she asks. Without waiting for an answer, she slides the tape in with one manicured hand.


	3. Cursed

When Anna Vireo hears her name called for the 38th Hunger Games, she squeals in excitement and bolts up to the stage. Posing for pictures with the escort, she thinks that her life is finally about to begin. When her dad mounts the stage with her, Anna squeezes him tight. She'd always been a daddy's girl.

OOOOOOOO

It feels so right to be here once again, Gavin Vireo thinks as he stands with his baby girl before all of District 1. The roaring crowd, the declarations of love, the cameras from the Capitol. He knows he can win—after all, he's done it before, 20 years ago. Now, he won't have to watch from the sidelines any more. District 1 got robbed last year. The tributes made stupid mistakes, and that half-witted oaf from District 2 won. It was torture, watching his tributes screw up and not be able to do anything about it. Now, Gavin and Anna Vireo are here to bring honor to District 1.

OOOOOOOOO

Sartorius and Seraphim stand side by side in front of District 2. Adrenaline courses through their veins. Seraphim can't help but think that this is what she and her brother were created for, this common purpose that united them in their mother's womb. Sartorius is bouncing on the balls of his feet, soaking in the admiration of the District 2 girls. He has a girlfriend, or at least a girl who he kisses behind the training center, but her name is long forgotten now.

OOOOOOOOOO

Lucia's heart drops to the pit of her stomach when her name is called because she know who is going to be called next. Alvin. Her cousin and her best friend. She thinks of the times they played together, catching earthworms and trying to teach them to do tricks. But they are thirteen. They will not survive.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Rhett is Chelsea Hamilton's favorite uncle, and she feels a thrill of hope when his name is called. Rhett has practically been her father since the flood. He was there when she was numb and sobbing in a corner and he is here now to help her win the Hunger Games.

OOOOOOOOOO

Ptarmigan nearly throws up when they call out her stepfather's name. She feels his black eyes crawling over her as he climbs up the stage. She cannot, will not work with him. The bruises are too fresh.

OOOOOOOOOO

Patrick knows when Avae Harris calls out Anthem's name that he is going to be called up next. At nineteen, he thought he was done with the Hunger Games. Anthem is eighteen. They almost made it. But not quite. He feels the sorrowful gaze of Lili as he mounts the stage, but he knows he is never coming back to his girlfriend or District 6.

OOOOOOOOOO

Jack would do anything for Elena, and he has. His daughter has never wanted for anything. But all his wealth cannot protect her now as she is called to the stage. When he climbs up, he holds her close and sends up a desperate prayer. He will die if his daughter may live.

OOOOOOOOO

Melanie Oaks has seen a lot of Hunger Games. This is her tenth year acting as escort for District 8. But this year is different. As she calls out the name of the girl, she reads the small print at the bottom of name. Closest relative. The girl who comes forward, Mayva Perry, is tiny and blonde and seventeen years old. Her closest relative is not related by blood. Ms. Perry is an orphan. Instead, it is her boyfriend, Marcus Twill. Melanie hopes against hope that these two can have a happy ending.

OOOOOOOO

Henry Whittaker follows his sister up to the podium, praying he doesn't wet his pants in front of all of District 9. In some twisted way, this is all Oriole's fault. If her name wasn't called, he wouldn't be here. But here he is, trying desperately to mat down his hair, following his sister _again. _When Henry was five, Oriole decided he needed a haircut. Their mother nearly fell down laughing when she saw Henry's new style. It took almost two years for his hair to grow out of the Mohawk.

Oriole looks defiant, and Henry hopes she isn't going to say something stupid and rebellious. He's still hoping this is all a dream, like the dreams he has about running away that quickly turn in to nightmares when the Capitol comes after him.

"Our tributes, Oriole and Henry Whittaker!"

OOOOOOOOOO

Grandpapa shuffles up to the stage. It's wrong, all wrong, Paloma thinks. She is twelve. He is sixty-six. He is the one that tells her stories of forest animals that talk using different voices for each character, and persuades her mama to let her have that extra piece of candy. Ever since her papa died, or even before then, Grandpapa has been here for her. It isn't fair. Tears are streaming down Paloma's face, and Grandpapa slides his arm around her. It just isn't fair.

OOOOOOOOO

This is Helio's worst nightmare seeing Wren getting called to the stage. When he gets called next, he stands by his fourteen-year old sister. He's always been her protector. He was there for her in the darkest time of her life, the time that she will never talk about. Helio squares his shoulders as the escort prattles on. He will kill anyone who tries to hurt Wren.

OOOOOOOOOO

Arthur Donner breathes a sigh of relief that his twin daughters are too young to be reaped in this year's games. If either one was reaped, he would do his best to protect her, but ultimately he would fail. He is a merchant, unaccustomed to hard labor.

The children reaped from District 12 are Ash Collins and her younger brother Peat. They are from the Seam. Arthur has bought bread from their father's bakery. He closes his eyes, but he knows that for District 12 children, being reaped amounts to a death sentence.


	4. Bonds

**Forgot to say this, but my name is not Suzanne Collins and I do not own the Hunger Games, only my own twisted imagination.**

Aimee raises an eyebrow as she takes the tape out. "Well?"

"The District 3 tributes," I say.

"They're thirteen!" Vidia squawks.

I look at Lucas. "You said that we'd be wrong. So I thought I should pick the unexpected."

Henry snorts. "The District 2 tributes. That one guy won last year. Anyways, they're enormous. Totally beast."

"You're thinking about this the wrong way," Lucas says. He knots his hands behind his head and leans back, exposing a strip of tanned abdomen. I roll my eyes. He's just showing off.

Aimee presses her lips together. "It's the smartest who win. The ones that can form the right alliances. You need to judge the bond between the tributes, see who can work together. Take the District 5 girl. She's terrified of that man. But the District 11 boy? He's strong and would clearly do anything for his sister. You two need to work together. A lone tribute has very little hope in these Games."

Henry is not very big or very strong. He's just…my little brother. But then I look at him, and he's getting broader in the chest and shoulders, and if he stands up, he might be almost as tall as I am. He's growing up. But still, he's fourteen, and although he works in the fields with me, he's not strong enough to face that District 2 boy in a swordfight.

When we were little, Henry and I would play games, taking up our entire bedroom floor as space for our castle or spaceship or pirate ship. Mama made little figures out of dried grass, and we would invent imaginary lands. We worked together then. Can we work together now? Suddenly, I want to bolt out of this train, and just run. Away from the Capitol, away from these Games. I can't do this. I don't want to make that awful choice: kill or be killed.

The next few days, we learn the intellectual strategy. At the Bloodbath, we have to bolt. Run first, and then find each other. Lucas and Aimee both know we're no match for the Careers.

Vidia tries to get us to focus on the interview or chariot rides, but our mentors brush her off. The glittery stuff can wait. We are in the fight of our lives.

At night, Henry sneaks into my bedroom.

"Are we going to die?"

I squint at his dark figure. "Hate to say it, but the odds are distinctly _not _in our favor."

Henry sighs. Suddenly, I want to scoop him up and hug him. I have never hugged him before. Wrestled him, yes, but hugged him, no. But he's fourteen. He'd probably just wriggle away.

"I miss Mama."

"I do too." That moment in the Justice Building was too brief. Mama, her brown hair going grey prematurely, hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe and told me to take care of Henry. I told her that I'd never taken care of him—we were to close in age. She told me that we had to come back to her. But I could tell she'd already given up. Like when Daddy disappeared.

"She said I had to take care of you." I can almost see Henry smirking.

"Funny, that's what she said to me, too."

"I'm going to learn how to use a sword. That's what Lucas thinks is best." Henry raises his chin defiantly.

"I know he does, Henry, I was there." He didn't say any weapon would be best for me. But then again, maybe he thinks I'd be good at all of them.

Yeah, right. I can just see me know, half-crazed, face streaked with the blood of my enemies, raising a battle-ax over my head and giving a war cry.

"Who do you think is going to be a bloodbath?" Henry plops down on my bead.

"Henry!" I say. But he's right, this is a game we used to play to distract ourselves from what was happening. I don't think it'll work now.

Are kids back home playing Pick the Bloodbaths? Are they picking us?

If they are, I'm going to kill the little bastards. They don't know what it's like.

"District 3," Henry muses. "I dunno who else. Maybe the District 6 girl? Oh, and probably District 12."

They're a brother and sister pair, just like us. An older sister and a younger brother.

"Probably us," I say, 'cause I'll go mad if I don't. It _is _probably going to be us. In a way, that might be good. You don't have to keep going, constantly checking over your shoulder and jumping at every sound.

"I'm leaving," Henry says shortly, standing up.

"Good night," I say. He doesn't respond.

**Shout out to MarigoldxObsidian, faithful reviewer. Thank you so much! Review my story and you too can have a shout out! And a brownie! Except for the brownie part.**


	5. Abandoned

Emily Whittaker hasn't moved since they took her children. Sure, she's gotten up and went to work in the fields, but she hasn't _moved,_ not really. She can't. A metal cage is squeezing her tight, crushing her heart and making it impossible for her to breathe. She harvests the grain mechanically, aware that all the other workers are looking on her with pity. She has no one now. Emily curses the children's father. They called him Daddy, worshipped him, jumped into his arms when he came home from work. And he's gone.

Emily walks home by herself, tracing the well-worn path back to their humble home. She shove open the door, the hinges creaking as always. The house is empty. Like her.

OOOOOOOO

Lidda Gold hums to herself as she makes some tea for Emily Whittaker. Her knotted white hair falls into her face, and she brushes it back with her gnarled fingers. When the tea is piping hot, she shuffles to the door, grabbing her cane that her grandson made her on the way.

As she walks the 38 steps to the Whittaker house, Lidda offers up a prayer to above, whoever is listening. _Let them come back, please. _No one in Panem prays anymore. It is something that was forgotten long before the dark days. But now, it is a time to remember.

OOOOOOOOOO

That's his brother and sister up there.

Kestrel Gold lets his head thud against the shabby wall of his house as he watches his grandmother plod over to the Whittaker's house. Oriole and Henry have been his neighbors forever. When he was eight, they made a blood pack. Oriole told him solemnly that it would unite them in blood. They would really be siblings, because the same blood would course through their veins.

If that's really true, Kestrel thinks, then give my strength to them. May my blood give them the power they need to fly back home. In truth, for a second he was shocked when Vidia called out Henry's name as Oriole's closest male relative instead of his own. And then Kestrel remembered that they were not related in the eyes of the Capitol.

OOOOOOOOO

Lydia makes the final touches for the room for the District 9 tributes. Beds smooth, floor scrubbed, table set, it's all ready for the little lambs.


	6. Flickers

As the train rushes in to the Capitol, Henry and I play Let's-Find-the-Weirdest-Looking Person. I insist that it's the lady who has completely tattooed her skin with leopard spots, but Henry says it's the man with a peacock tail.

We disembark from the train. It's sick how many of the Capitol people coo over us. Don't they know that we are going to die for their entertainment?

Our rooms are much nicer than our shack in District 9 or even our bunks on the train. When I walk on the carpet, I feel like I'm walking on a cloud. An Avox scuttles in the corner. I feel a stab of pity for her.

Tonight, Aimee tells us, are the chariot rides. This has always been my favorite part of the Games. While Henry groans in the corner, waiting for the exciting stuff to happen, I am always transfixed, watching the tributes blaze through the Capitol in their wild and wonderful costumes. Now it's our turn. I just hope we have clothes on.

"Darling!" squeals my stylist when she sees me. "I'm Lucretia, honey. Oh, this is going to be so exciting. Now Tertius and I were talking, and we decided to be _original. _We've always dressed District 9 up in gold, you know, for the wheat, sweetie, but these Games are _different. _Aren't you excited, sweet pea?"

And I have to admit, I am. Lucretia claps her hands and tosses her candy pink hair over her shoulder.

Lucretia and her prep team buzz around me in this tiny sterile white room. They wax my legs—_damn, that hurts—_and comb my hair.

"Such beautiful hair, sweets," Lucretia rubs gel in my hair and twirls it up on top of my head.

I'm fizzing with nervous energy now, but I try to keep still as the prep team works their magic.

"So, darling, as we said, we're going to go a different route with District 9. I saw your name was Oriole, and I said to myself, 'Lucretia, we have got to do something interesting with that girl'. So, honey, I thought and I thought, and I said, 'Lucretia, we're going to dress that girlie up like a bird!' Because of you being Oriole and all and District 9 has birds, after all, in the fields, right, sweetheart? So me and Tertius, we've been crafting these costumes for you and your dear little brother. Sound good, sweets?"

I blink, dazed by the torrent of words. "Uh, yeah." I don't tell her that every district has birds. But, this could be interesting. And Vidia has told me enough that good costumes equal good sponsors.

"Fab!" Lucretia beams. "Look at these wings, doll." She holds up a pair of wings. Oriole wings. I've seen enough of those birds in the fields to recognize my namesake. They are black streaked with sunset orange. "They'll set your hair off perfectly, baby."

A few hours later, I'm gazing at myself in the mirror. The wings arc out from my body, and a tail of feathers drips down to the floor. My hair is twisted up, feathers woven into it. My dress is black, and I'm clutching a fistful of grain. Lucretia pats my cheeks. "Knock 'em dead, sweetie. Literally."

Aimee escorts me to the chariot. It's too dark to see what Henry looks like, although I can hear him grumbling.

"The feathers are itching in most uncomfortable spots, Oriole."

"Thanks for sharing," I whisper back.

He fidgets. "I just hope we start soon."

Suddenly, the chariot lurches under our feet. I grip the sides for balance. We are being pulled out to meet Panem.

I feel sick.

The bright lights dazzle my eyes. I focus ahead. The District 8 tributes are kissing. That's right, they're boyfriend and girlfriend. Probably putting on a show for the Capitol.

I look at Henry. "No," he says firmly.

"I wasn't going to kiss you," I snap. "But it's best to show a united front."

I grasp my brother's hand and hold it up in the air, thrusting the grain up with my other hand. Our wings rub against each other. We wave and the people cheer, thrilled to be in our presence. The bay horses trot towards the center, and the twelve chariots fan out in front of the president.

"Welcome," he says hoarsely. I realize with a shock that he could be dying. "This is the 38th Hunger Games. Tributes, you share a special bond with your district partner. Use it to your advantage. And may the odds…"

"Be ever in your favor." I mouth the words as the president takes a seat.

This is it. Henry looks wan and pale. A few feathers are falling out of his hair. I have a sudden urge to brush his hair back from his face, and tell him it's going to be all right.

But I don't.

Because it isn't.


	7. Offered

This is her favorite part of the games. The Capitol girl leans out of her private box seats to watch the tributes parade in front of the Capitol. Her hair is newly purple for the occasion. And don't the tributes look so interesting? District 1, the father and daughter pair, are draped in royal purple with crowns on their foreheads. A bit premature for crowns, the girl thinks. District 1 sweeps by, the white horses practically glowing, the tributes waving and cheering along with the crowd. The Capitol girl decides to bet on these two. With the father's experience, they'll be a shoo-in.

OOOOOOOOO

Alvin is quaking with fear. So many people! Lucia squeezes his hand reassuringly, but even his cousin can't halt the racing wave of terror. The District 2 tributes in front of them are massive, looking especially intimidating decked out in armor. And he is small and skinny. He tries to wave, but cannot. Lucia looks sympathetically at him. She is dressed like he is, in a tunic of brightly colored wires. Alvin desperately crushes his fear down, but it is so hard, with the people of the Capitol baying for his blood.

_What did I ever do to you? _he cries out.

OOOOOOOOOO

In District 5, Mrs. Elling, Ptarmigan's mother, bites her nails as she watches the screen. She cannot escape the desperate feeling that this is all her fault. She had only married Ptarmigan's stepfather because he was rich and they were starving. Most nights, she hides in her room and prays her husband is too drunk to hurt her. Most nights, he is not too drunk to hurt her.

But Mrs. Elling is good at numbing the pain. So she pretends this doesn't happen. But now, seeing her daughter on the screen, glowing like a beacon as far away on the chariot from her stepfather as she can be, she cannot escape the truth anymore. Terror rushes over her. She draws her knees to her chest and sobs. She wishes she protected Ptarmigan more. But it is too late.

OOOOOOOOOO

Elena has cried herself to sleep every night since she was reaped. She is furious, but most of all, terrified. She doesn't know it, but her father offered money, lots of it, if someone would take her place. No one volunteered.

Elena is miserable. The lights are too bright and her costume is itchy. Her stylist told her she was a beautiful tree nymph, but she doesn't feel like one. She wants to go home. She wants her father to take control and get her out of here. She glares up at her father now. Why won't he take her home?

OOOOOOOOOO

The only girl Henry Whittaker of District 9 has kissed is trying not to watch the television right now.

"Lacey, hon?" calls her mother. "Don't you want to see the costumes?"

Lacey Trylle has not told anyone Henry kissed her so her mother does not know what she is feeling. Not that she ever does.

Lacey threads her fingers through her curly dark brown hair and slouches over to the screen. Of course. Henry is riding through now.

He looks ridiculous, with brown and cream colored feathers in his hair, and hawk wings spreading behind him. He says something to his sister, who manages to pull off the outfit better than he does, and they raise their arms to the crowd. Lacey is filled with a sharp pang of envy. Her older brother died in the Hunger Games when she was six.

Her mother murmurs a prayer that the children of District 9 will come home. Lacey silently says good-bye to Henry Whittaker.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Wren grips the handles of the chariot to keep from losing her balance. Helio slides a protective hand on her shoulders, and she beams gratefully up at her brother.

"The poor tributes from District 10," she whispers. "It's not fair."

"There's nothing we can do about that," Helio replies steadily. Wren wishes her brother weren't so stoical. _We're about to die on live television! _she wants to scream. But Helio's steadiness has served him well and kept him out of trouble. Until she was reaped. Helio has a chance of getting home. He is big and strong, while she, though not exactly weak, is a handicap to her brother.

OOOOOOOOOOO

_These are the best Games yet! _thinks the violet-haired Capitol girl. She simply cannot wait until they begin. There will be blood.


	8. Pasts

I lean over the edge of the balcony, watching the velvet twilight spread over the Capitol. The citizens are going about their lives in their plastic worlds, eagerly awaiting these twisted Games.

Sometimes, I just want to kill all of them.

"You know, you can't kill yourself if you jump."

It's Lucas, leaning against the wall, hair covering his dark eyes. Yesterday, during training, he stayed away from me, letting Henry and me explore the various stations on our own. I made Henry visit every survival station with me.

I straighten up. "I wasn't going to jump."

"I did."

I stare at him, well aware my mouth is gaping like a beached fish. He shrugs. "I wanted to die my way."

"I'd rather not die at all."

Lucas studies me for an infinite second. "Thought about any strategies?"

"Isn't that your job?"

"No, I just get to stand around and look handsome."

"Good thing I have Aimee then," I snap.

He grins. "Don't discredit her. I'll show you her Games tomorrow."

Normally, I wouldn't ask to see his Games, but then, in three weeks I'll either be dead or a victor so it doesn't matter.

"What about yours?"

Lucas' eyes bore into mine. "I guess. We'll do that in the morning. And you two should find some allies."

Allies. I'd considered that, but I don't really play well with others. I mentally go through the list of tributes. The Careers are out of the question, the ones from 3, 7, 10, and 12 are probably bloodbaths, I don't want to work with the lovebirds from eight, and I don't like the look of the man from 5. This leaves 6 and 11.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow. You should get some rest before the Games," Lucas says, only a little sarcastically.

I sigh. "Yeah."

The next morning, I make Henry sit down with a list of all the tributes and we go over the names.

"District 11—he's not big but he looks like a beast! Gotta have him!"

"But does he gotta have us?" I reply.

Henry slouches down. "Well, what do you think?"

"I dunno. I guess I could try talking to the girl," I say, scanning the names and faces.

Aimee strides into the room, a cup of tea steaming in her hand. When she sees us, she presses her lips together tightly and quietly sits down. Lucas follows her in, beaming. "Allies! Wonderful! Who do you have?"

"Eleven!" Henry shouts.

"Maybe Six," I say.

Lucas nods. "Try talking to them today, and finalize alliances after you get the training scores. But the most important thing is that you two stick together."

I look on Henry's freckled face and wish I wasn't pinning my hopes for survival on my fourteen-year-old brother.

Aimee clears her throat. "Gavin Vireo is the only previous victor. We thought it would be wise to watch his Games." She flicks on the television to show the 18th Hunger Games, and Henry and I lean back, Henry munching his third piece of toast of the morning.

She skips through the interviews, except for Gavin's. It's disturbing, but back then, he was kind of hot. But arrogant—in his interview, he's wearing a constant smirk and leaning back confidently as if he's already the victor.

The arena's an arctic wasteland, so white it's blinding. A District 8 girl figures out that there are caves underground with hot spots. I'm pointlessly rooting for her to win, but her death comes on the tenth day when she is torn apart by wolves. Most of the other tributes die of exposure, until there are four left. Gavin turns on his allies and ruthlessly hunts all the other tributes down. He's good. And as a mentor, he's watched the Games every year. He knows the tricks inside out.

"So, you're just showing this to let us know we're screwed, right?" I say.

Henry elbows me, hard. "He's past his prime! We can still get him!" he says, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

Aimee's eyebrows crease together. It must be so hard watching tributes die year after year. And she had to do it alone until Lucas won two years ago.

"My Games," she says. Lucas shoots her a long look. "Are you sure?"

She doesn't answer, just slides her disk in and fiddles with her long blonde hair. These were the twenty-seventh Hunger Games. Aimee is seventeen years old when she is reaped. The camera pans over a family with blonde children screaming their eyes out when she is reaped. I didn't know she had a family.

But she does, or did then, because that's all she can talk about in her interview. How she tucks the little ones in bed, how she helps her mother cook, how she and her father like watching the birds fly overhead. I feel a pang of sympathy for her, her hair drawn over her face, separating her from the world.

Aimee sprints away from the Cornucopia when the gong sounds. The arena is made of wetlands, with reeds swaying in the wind and perpetual ankle-deep water. Aimee manages to hunt waterfowl by setting snares. Soon, she joins up with a raggedy looking girl from District 12 and a skinny boy from District 7. They work well as a team, managing to fend off the Career pack and foraging for food.

When it comes down to six, Aimee kills her allies in their sleep.

I press my hands tight over my mouth as she suffocates them with her blanket. I understand why she did it, but on the television her pain as she stares at their limp bodies is palpable.

Now, Aimee stares ahead at the screen, trying to hide the tears budding in her eyes. That's the real cruelty of these Games. You are forced to turn on the innocent in order to survive.

I hold my breath when it comes down to Aimee and the District 2 girl. I know what's going to happen, but I am mesmerized as the two girls swordfight in the middle of the wetlands. The District 2 girl has beaten Aimee back, opening angry slashes on her skin, but then Aimee flings the putrid water in her face, giving her the split second she needs to slay her opponent. And then she is the first winner of District 9.

Henry is ghost white underneath his freckles. Aimee smiles sadly. "I think about them every day. Remember this when you make your alliances."

Lucas awkwardly pats Aimee on the shoulder, and slides his tape in. The 36th Hunger Games flicker to life. I watched these Games, but now I pick apart every move these tributes make. One false step and you're dead.

When Lucas won his Games, it was one of the best days of my life. We didn't have to worry about food, and we slept peacefully with full stomachs. I screamed with joy at the victor's parade. This was one of our own and he won.

Now, I see the price he paid to win.

His district partner was Allis Bates and she sat behind me in class. I never liked her because she was the daughter of a rich family and she was always playing with her beautiful red hair. She was the first tribute that I actually had talked to. And I watched her die in the Bloodbath and I watch it again now as a spear halts her desperate flight away and she falls, red hair streaming behind her.

Lucas was lucky with the arena—that year, it was a savanna, the long grass so similar to our fields of grain. I remember cheering when we saw the arena. And when Lucas escaped from the Bloodbath, after proving he could wield a scythe with deadly accuracy, we knew we had a chance.

He does not hunt down his opponents, but when they come to him where he is hiding in the golden sea, he takes them down, the blade of his scythe flickering in the sunlight. The Games were relatively short that year, only 10 days. Soon, it is Lucas and the boy from District 8. This time, Lucas goes hunting for him, sliding through the grass like a snake. He is able to catch the boy unawares. The battle is short. The boy had a knife, but he wields it clumsily The only reason he survived this long is because he stayed out of sight and created traps that felled two Careers. But the boy doesn't have his traps now, and Lucas' scythe slashes across his throat. When this happened two years ago, I cheered and hugged Henry. This meant food.

Now, I see the pain etched across Lucas' face, though he tries to disguise it by quickly ejecting the tape. Henry's grinning. "That was awesome! You really saved us there!"

Lucas manages a grin. "Alright, enough of past games. It's time to make some new friends."


	9. Trained

Wren is fumbling with her knots when the girl from District 9 taps her on the shoulder.

"Nice job," she says, flicking back her red gold hair. Wren smiles. "Thank you," she says softly.

The District 9 girl smiles blandly at the trainer supervising the knots station. "Want to check out one of the weapons stations?" she asks Wren.

Wren looks over to where Helio is swinging a sword, hacking at one of the dummies. Isn't that the District 9 girl's brother bouncing next to Helio?

The girl follows her gaze. "That's Henry. I'm Oriole." She sticks out her hand and Wren tentatively shakes it. She admires Oriole's confidence.

"Alright," she finds herself saying, and follows Oriole over to the knife station.

OOOOOOOOO

Helio is not very impressed with the District 9 boy bobbing next to him like an eager puppy. He is trying to concentrate on sword fighting, a task he finds he takes naturally to. But then he sees the boy's sister talking with his own sister. He sighs.

"What's wrong?" Henry asks.

Helio looks at the boy's freckled face and floppy dark brown hair. "Here. Let me show you how to hold the sword. If you hold it like that, you don't have much control."

It looks like they're going to be allies, and he doesn't want this kid slowing him and his sister down.

OOOOOOOOO

Caligula Curry, Head Gamemaker, lurks in the corner watching his tributes train. That's how he always thinks of them—they are _his _tributes, brought to the Capitol for _him _to play with and sacrifice. He watches, unseen, the way they fight and interact. He has been Head Gamemaker since the first Quarter Quell. He has kept his position as Head the longest, riding on the popularity of those Games. It was Caligula who suggested to the president that they have this twist for these Games, both to subdue any discontent and boost his own image.

Caligula Curry leans against the stone wall of the training center. For all thirty-seven previous Hunger Games he has correctly predicted the winner. As Head Gamemaker, this is something he prides himself on. And despite jealous charges, he has never manipulated the Games or bet any money on the outcome. He is right and the tributes are his and that is all that matters.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Ptarmigan hurls another knife into the dummy's stomach and pretends that it is her stepfather. Another one slams between the dummy's eyes. She notes, with vicious satisfaction, that the dummy is so full of knives it resembles her mother's pincushion. She enjoys the reassuring weight of the knife in her hands and the satisfying thunk it makes when it sinks into the dummy.

Ptarmigan feels eyes watching her, and she turns to see her stepfather glaring at her. She tells herself she does not need to tremble anymore. At home, this glare would be followed by the sliding of his belt from his belt loops and the awful crack as it landed on her skin. But here, ironically enough, she is safe. Tributes are forbidden to fight here before they meet in the arena. Ptarmigan meets her stepfather's eyes defiantly and hurls one last knife that sinks right in the dummy's heart.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Seraphim feels superhuman as she and her brother fight side by side with the trainers. She and Sartorius have been a team since before they were born. She wipes the sweat away from her eyes and slashes her sword at the trainer. Within seconds, she and her twin have disarmed the trainers and pinned them to the ground. Sartorius lumbers off the ground and gives his sister a sweaty high-five. Seraphim grins back, and two sets of blue eyes shine. They are unstoppable.

OOOOOOOOOO

Rafael Ortega calmly loops a lasso around the training dummy. _Just like cattle, _he thinks, _only a little smarter. _Paloma, standing next to him, cheers him on.

"Would you like to try, Palomita?" he asks his granddaughter. Paloma's chocolate brown eyes widen as she reverently takes the lasso. Rafael fits his calloused hands around her small ones as he shows her how to grip the rope. She swings enthusiastically, missing the dummy by a mile.

"Swing from your shoulders," he tells her gently.

She swings again and manages to graze the side of one dummy. "Wonderful, Palomita," Rafael says, patting her dark head.

Paloma smiles as she hugs her grandfather.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Anthem Redpath dismisses the District 9 girl when she comes to talk. She and Patrick already talked. They're not going to make an alliance. They know that the bonds between the district partners are too strong, and an alliance is only prolonging the inevitable.

The District 9 girl tries to act casual, but Anthem can see the hope die from her eyes as she brushes her off. It's not like Anthem's very close to Patrick—after he moved out, they mostly stopped talking to each other because it was too inconvenient to seek him out. Now, he's her ticket home, so they've been awkwardly trying to rekindle a relationship.

As the District 9 girl steps away, Anthem remembers the worst fight that she and Patrick had. He called her a slut for sleeping with his best friend and Anthem angrily told him that it was her business. So what if she sleeps around? She needs something to distract her from her crappy life. And it's not like Patrick is perfect. He takes after her mother with an overfondness for alcohol.

Nevertheless, Anthem and Patrick are a team. They have to be.

OOOOOOOOO

Peat sticks close to Ash as she moves around the stations. He doesn't like the Capitol. It's too big and noisy and everybody's wearing weird clothes. Plus, they made him dress in itchy overalls with a too-big helmet falling in his face. He doesn't understand why he is here. Ash seems upset, but she often is.

"Here, Peat, this is how you make fire," Ash says kindly. Dark brown hair is falling in her eyes. Peat thinks his sister looks better now that they are away from smelly District 12. There is a lot of food. He likes food.

Peat watches bright orange flames leap up from the pile of sticks. He wants to touch them, but he knows that that would hurt.

Ash sighs when she looks at him. Peat still doesn't understand.


	10. Plots

"So," Lucas says brightly. "Your training went so well yesterday, but I think it's time to branch out."

I glare at him. Okay, I'm not particularly skilled with a knife. Or a sword. Or a bow. But I really can't take his smirking demeanor.

"Got any bright ideas?"

"Several actually, but they might be regarded as treason."

I stare at him. He's speaking in a light tone, but this is the first time I've ever seen him show any animosity towards the Capitol.

"Joking," he says, but his dark eyes are serious. I swallow and glance around the training center to make sure no one heard. Everyone is too focused on their tasks, methodically slashing and hurling and studying in a desperate effort to stay alive.

I nod at him cautiously and follow him over to a new station. He thrusts a wooden staff into my hands. "Try this."

I grip the staff, feeling the way the gnarls and cracks of the wood fit into my hands. Hefting it experimentally, I find it has a nice weight. As someone who's spent her life cutting grain in the fields, my shoulders are used to swinging objects.

Lucas stands back while I twirl the staff and slam it into the nearest dummy. I shift my weight, experimenting with the best stance.

"Any advice?" I call.

"Nope," Lucas says cheerfully. "I've never used a staff before."

I make a rude gesture in his direction, and then focus my attention of the staff. It's a weapon of power and grace.

I like it.

As the day wears on, I realize that we haven't made any more progress with our little alliance. So I put down the staff, my shoulders shaking with exertion, and nab Henry, who is with Helio again.

"What?" he hisses as I pull him away from his idol.

"Henry," I tell him. "We need a strategy. And you have to remember that only one team can win."

He looks at me mutinously, a common expression for him, then sighs. I wave Wren over from the edible plants station, and we head over to where Helio is swinging the sword with a vengeance.

Helio looks up and sighs when he sees us gathered around him, dwarfish next to him.

"What now?"

Henry and Wren stare at me. "We need a strategy," I say, bouncing on my toes.

Wren's eyes flash with nervousness. "For the Cornucopia?"

"We stick with our partner," Helio says shortly. "If we both make it, we can meet up later."

"What about weapons and supplies?" Henry asks.

Helio swings the sword from hand to hand, his shoulder muscles rippling. "Oldest ones get weapons and supplies." He looks at me and I nod.

We stand around awkwardly until Helio clears his throat. "Better prepare for the evaluations."

"Right. Come on, Henry," I say.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

My name is called. It sounds so foreign and wrong, oozing from the Capitol loudspeaker.

"Oriole Whittaker!" A mutation of my name. Mama always sang my name when she woke me up. "Oriole!" she'd trill. "It's time for the harvest, birdy."

_Time for the harvest, _I think. _Time to show them what I've got._

Henry flashes me a thumbs up, and Wren, sitting a few seats down, grins. I walk, as quickly as I can to the room.

The Gamemakers are lined up on a balcony. I fantasize about throwing something at them, maybe a knife, but reconsider.

"You may begin," one of them says. They're bored now. All the Careers have gone through. I scan the weapons piled up. I don't want to do too well and make myself a target. I just want to get enough sponsors and be able to slide out of the Bloodbath.

I spot a staff, lying under a bag of knives. The ridges and whorls of the wood soothe me. I pick it up and twirl it, then slam it into the dummy. Its head falls off and I feel a sharp surge of satisfaction. I run, and then use my staff to pole vault, suspending myself weightless in the air for one blissful moment, and then land on the other side of my decapitated foe. I turn to the next dummy. This one's gripping a wooden sword and is programmed by the Capitol to fight. It swings, slower than an actual human would, towards my face. I duck instinctively and twist one end of my staff towards its hands. The sword clatters on the floor. In the next instant, I slam the other end into its face. It doesn't dodge fast enough and falls, slowly, to the ground with a thud.

I'm panting too hard, coated with sweat and fear. _One more trick, _I think. I hurl my staff like a spear at one more dummy, grateful for my strong shoulder muscles. My aim isn't perfect, but it's enough to make the dummy wobble. I swing around to face the Gamemakers. Two of them are dozing. Again, hot anger ripples through me, but I squash it down.

"Thanks for watching!" I say cheerily. One violet-haired man startles awake. I give a jaunty wave and then sweep from the room.


	11. Branded

The lights brighten, and Sylvetta Nyx feels a surge of excitement. She glances at Caligula, who's hunched over a tablet. This is her first year as Gamemaker. The District 1 girl hurries in and waves at the Gamemakers. Sylvetta waves back before she can stop herself.

Anna eyes the setup, and then explodes into action. She's hurled a knife into the center of a dummy's chest before Sylvetta can even register that she'd ducked. Two knives follow in quick succession, and then Anna blurs away. Sylvetta, breathless, watches the girl swing from the ceiling before dropping down on another dummy. Then there's a flash of silver as she swings a sword, her grace overcoming her lack of strength, feinting and dodging before sinking it into the dummy's chest. She twirls away and curtseys to the Gamemakers.

"Dismissed," Caligula says dully.

Sylvetta remembers that she's supposed to be sketching ideas for the Games based on the tributes' showings. She resolves to pay more attention to Anna's father.

OOOOOOOOOO

Gavin watches as his daughter sashays into the room, her blonde hair dancing behind her. He feels like Anna doesn't realize what the Games are going to be like. She's an excellent fighter, no doubt about it, the best in her class, but the Games are brutal.

"Gavin Vireo!"

Gavin claps his hands, smirking at the other tributes—_children—_and then makes his way into the room. Twenty years ago, he was drunk on the knowledge of his own power and strength, sure of his victory. This year is just the same.

He strides into the evaluation room and nods to the Gamemakers.

Last time, he got a 10. This time, he wants a 12.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Lydia thinks she's supposed to feel lucky. An Avox, getting to see the evaluations? She couldn't believe it either when she was ordered to leave the District 9 area and wait on the Gamemakers. So far, she snatched glances at the tributes, in between filling the Gamemakers' goblets with wine and clearing empty plates.

Actually, though, it disgusts her. The Gamemakers gorge themselves as tributes frantically try to prove that they deserve to live.

District 1 seem like the strongest pair, although Lydia notes that the District 2 tributes share a similar fighting style, both lethally good with knives and spears, balancing quick, powerful movements with steady grace. District 3 is rather pathetic. The girl attempts to throw knives, but her arms are pitifully weak. Her partner (cousin, Lydia remembers) recites a list of edible and medicinal plants in his reedy voice. Doomed, Lydia thinks. Lydia sneaks looks at District 4, the uncle and niece, crouching under the table, cleaning up the chicken the newest Gamemaker spilled in her excitement. _Brain-dead twit. _Both are tall, tanned, and good-looking. She sees flashes of spears and tridents.

OOOOOOOOO

Ptarmigan savagely shoves the fear down with each throw of the knife. She blocks out the eyes of the Gamemakers, marveling at the little dark-haired girl with the fierce scowl. She imagines a twelve for herself, and a one for her stepfather. She pictures him dead at the Cornucopia, his throat slit. She lets the rage and fear encompass her. Before she knows it, she's shredded the dummy with her knives.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sylvetta blinks, startled how the District 5 girl dispatched of the dummy in such a brutal manner. She scribbles a few quick notes, and turns her gaze on the girl's stepfather. He's a big man, classically handsome face with an aquiline nose, raven-dark hair, and cold blue eyes. She shivers in spite of herself. The man scowls at the range of weapons, then picks up the knives. He doesn't have the savage skill of his stepdaughter.

OOOOOOOOOO

Lydia can't help but watch as the District 6 girl walks confidently into the room, letting her hair fall over her shoulder, obviously going for the sexy angle. Nevertheless, she's decent with a knife, hitting close to the target.

The District 6 boy is surprisingly skilled with a mace. He's handsome too, Lydia notes, not that it matters. Still, she lets her gaze run over the contours of his face, his green eyes and dark hair the same as his sister. Patrick, she remembers. That's his name. And his sister is Anthem. He's about nineteen, just a touch younger than she is. Lydia came from District 6. They could be friends, she thinks, or something more. When he leaves, she checks him out. An Avox needs a little pleasure.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Districts 7 and 8 are going for the touchy-feely stories. Daddy's Little Girl and The Starcrossed Lovers. Caligula snorts. None of the four are particularly good—the girl from 7 can't stop her hands from shaking—although Marcus, the boy from 8 is decent with a sword. _Bloodbaths, _Caligula writes on his notes. Nothing else to say.

He doesn't like the look of the girl from 9, though. She reminds him of a trapped animal, hiding her fear but preparing to lash out. And she waves at the Gamemakers. Nevertheless, Caligula thinks, she could be a fun toy to play with. If she survives the bloodbath, he'll make she has some fun.

OOOOOOOOO

Henry's feeling emboldened by the alliance. He gives a thumbs up to Oriole as she hurries in. He really hopes she doesn't do anything stupid. They need decent scores. He plots in his mind what he's going to do. Show them some tricks with his sword, thanks to Helio's help. He glances over at the District 11 boy, hoping for some encouragement, but he's talking to his sister. Wren's the same age as Henry is, and she's very pretty. But he remembers what Oriole would say: Alliances do not last.

When his name is called, Henry bolts to his feet, and then is petrified. What now? He slowly plods to the door and turns the doorknob. He is greeted by a vast room, populated with dummies and weapons. He timidly enters, scanning the room for the Gamemakers huddled like vultures in the front. And then he shakes away the fear and picks up the sword. _Let's do this!_

OOOOOOOOOO

Rafael squeezes his granddaughter's hand before she leaves. He prays Paloma will do well, remember the tricks he showed her. In a way, he's glad he's here, instead of Paloma's six-year-old brother. The Capitol's generous mercy, he thinks.

When his own name is called, Rafael offers up a quick prayer. He remembers the Dark Days and the first Hunger Games, but was never eligible to be reaped. There were seven tense years when Regina was eligible, but she survived. It's a cruel twist of fate that he and Paloma are reaped together. He is the oldest tribute and she is the youngest.

_Ayúdame, Dios, _Rafael whispers. He picks up the rope, his calloused hands expertly knotting it. He could do this in his sleep. He twirls it over his head, a flaxen halo, and sends it flying across the room around a dummy's neck. Rafael smiles. This is what he was meant to do.

OOOOOOOOOO

Eleven and twelve. The last two districts have not had any winners yet. Caligula smirks. They're the poorest of the poor, mired in poverty and misery. The girl from 11 is small, but she swings from the ceiling effortlessly and starts a fire in a heartbeat. Her brother is a force to be reckoned with. Tall and lean, but coursing with muscles, he dismembers dummies ruthlessly. Caligula would bet he's never touched a sword, but he wields it like it's an extension of his body. He makes a small mark next to Helio's name.

The ones from twelve are hopeless, though. Caligula has written "Bloodbath" next to their names before they have even entered. The girl is good with a bow, but she is a walking skeleton. And her brother doesn't seem quite right. He attempts to make a fire, but the flames sputter out quickly. Next, he stumbles over in front of the Gamemakers and recites a list of plants and their uses. He gets most of them wrong.

OOOOOOOOOO

The scores flash on the screen, and millions of breaths are held, trapped, fluttering in the lungs. These numbers can mean life or death.

Anna Vireo, age 17, District 1: 10

Gavin Vireo, age 41, District 1: 11

Seraphim Elysium, age 15, District 2: 9

Sartorius Elysium, age 15, District 2: 9

Lucia Waltz, age 13, District 3: 4

Alvin Cunningham, age 13, District 3: 3

Chelsea Hamilton, age 16, District 4: 8

Rhett Hamilton, age 35, District 4: 10

Ptarmigan Elling, age 15, District 5: 8

Nikolas Elling, age 46, District 5: 5

Patrick Redpath, age 19, District 6: 7

Anthem Redpath, age 18, District 6: 5

Elena Larch, age 14, District 7: 3

Jack Larch, age 50, District 7: 6

Mayva Perry, age 18, District 8: 5

Marcus Twill, age 18, District 8: 7

Oriole Whittaker, age 16, District 9: 7

Henry Whittaker, age 14, District 9: 5

Paloma Ortega, age 12, District 10: 4

Rafael Ortega, age 68, District 10: 6

Wren, age 14, District 11: 5

Helio, age 20, District 11: 9

Ash Collins, age 15, District 12: 4

Peat Collins, age 12, District 12: 2


	12. Words

"Doll, you look _divine," _Lucretia squeals. I touch my hair in the mirror. How the hell did she get it so light and soft? Usually, it's just a thick auburn mass.

"Alright, girlie, knock 'em dead. You're going to do _fabulous!" _ She pats my head and nudges me to my feet. I scoot out the door before she can do anything else.

"Ready?" Henry greets me. They've combed back his dark brown hair and dressed him in brown trousers and a button down shirt. He looks like a medieval peasant from a history book. I'm laced up in a dark green vest over a cream colored dress, swirls of gold eye shadow hovering over my green eyes. I think we both look ridiculous.

"Oh, you two look…adorable." Aimee says unenthusiastically. I roll my eyes in agreement. "Well, might as well just get it over with."

Lucas saunters into the room, smirking when he sees me. "Nice dress."

"Was it like the one you wore?" I ask innocently. Henry snorts in laughter.

"Alright," Aimee says hastily. "We need to talk about your angles. Oriole, you be the protective, brave older sister. Act determined, pretend you have it all figured out. Henry, you be in awe of the Capitol's glamour. Say your sister is your hero and you trust her. Got it?"

I think I can pull off my part, but Henry's glaring mutinously at Aimee.

Aimee checks her pearlescent watch. "It's time. We have to go!"

We dash out of the room, brushing by the dark-haired Avox—wasn't she at the evaluation last night?—and pile into the elevator. I fiddle with the strings on my vest. What the hell is wrong with Lucretia?

And then Vidia meets us at the bottom, looking washed out under her butter-yellow wig. "You two are right here," she says, plopping Henry and me down between Marcus of District 8 and Paloma of District 10.

"Just so you know, you're not my hero," Henry whispers.

"Shut up," I reply.

"Nervous?" he asks, poking me in the side.

"No," I lie. "I scored two points higher than you, didn't I?"

"You're two years older. And anyways, I didn't want to give away any secrets."

I'm about to reply when light gushes over the auditorium. Rufus Magnolia, resplendent in a magenta suit, strides over the stage and waves at the audience.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 38th annual Hunger Games, where we are pleased to present you with a special twist: Each of these 24 tributes are related to their partner in one way or another. Consequently, we have decided to allow two victors, provided they are from the same district. First up, we have the gorgeous Anna Vireo and her father, the victor of the eighteenth Games, Gavin Vireo!"

Applause. I slouch down in my seat, watching as Anna trots up to the stage, beaming at the audience, followed by her father.

I make a point to remember each district's strategies. Anna says she's counting on her father, who has lots of experience, but also adds she has plenty of fighting skills of her own. I don't doubt that. The twins from District 2 don't talk much, but the girl says they're completely unstoppable together. When the little cousins from District 3 come up, I press my hands over my mouth. They're thirteen, and both are skinny and black-haired. The girl bravely answers Rufus' questions, saying that she's watched previous Hunger Games, and brawn doesn't mean everything, but her cousin hunches in the background, terrified by the bright lights. I glance over at Henry. He's just a year older than them, but he's better fed and taller. We'll make it, right?

Next are Chelsea Hamilton of District 4, and her uncle, Rhett. Chelsea's wearing an almost sheer blue tunic that emphasizes her curves. She makes sure to wink and flirt with the Capitol audience. Her uncle's playing the same card, mentioning in passing that he's single. They have a good rapport together, playing off each other.

I'm glad they're letting the district partners do the interviews together this year. Going at it alone would be almost unbearable.

"Next, we have Ptarmigan Elling, and her stepfather, Nikolas Elling!"

There's something that isn't right about this pair. I notice how Ptarmigan keeps a careful distance from her stepfather and never actually looks him in the eye. Rufus tries to ask her about her score—an 8 is rather high for District 5—but she dodges the question, her dark hair hanging in front of her face like a curtain. Her stepfather's louder, but he has no charisma either. I can't imagine these two are going to get many sponsors.

Then we have Districts 6, 7, and 8. I pay close attention to Anthem and Patrick after they turned me down, but I can't glean any hint about their strategy. Mayva and Marcus of 8 wax lyrical about their undying love—I catch Henry rolling his eyes—and Jack from 7 keeps his arms around his daughter the whole time.

"Next, we have Oriole Whittaker, and her brother Henry!"


	13. Presented

A long time ago, Henry Whittaker and his sister used to run through the fields of grain, an endless ocean of gold. He would always follow her, his stubby legs no match for her long stride. Oriole had always been the leader. Henry would follow his sister's plans to the end of the world when he was little, no matter how foolish they were, like the time they locked their parents out of the house for five minutes.

"Welcome. Now tell me Henry, how did you feel when your sister's name was drawn?"

Henry is almost blinded by the light reflecting off the buttons on Rufus' coat. "Well, I was upset. But I, well, until they called my name, I forgot it was going to be me going with her." But he is following his sister, again.

"Oriole?"

"I was mad that they called Henry. It was one thing, reaping me, but my little brother? Come on!" The audience titters.

"So how do you think you two will do?" Henry lets Oriole answer this one. In all honesty, he's pissed that Aimee appointed Oriole the speaker for the two of them. Henry has never had a problem speaking in front of others—he starred in a school play when he was nine—and he's worried Oriole will say something stupid.

"Oh, well, you know I'd rather have a stronger district partner"—Oriole ruffles Henry's hair to the amusement of the audience—"but don't underestimate us. We've been together forever."

"Henry?"

He straightens up. "I'm all ready for this! I got a pretty good score and Oriole and I can do anything together!" So cheesy, they'll just eat it up.

"I noticed you two were presented as birds during the parade, and your costumes are embroidered with birds now. Planning to fly away?"

The audience chuckles. Henry curses their stylists.

Oriole smiles. "You never know."

OOOOOOOOOO

Rufus Magnolia has been the interviewer since the twentieth Hunger Games, and he is still not used to talking to twelve-year-olds about their impending deaths. Not a single twelve year old had one in all the 37 previous Games. This year, there are two. The first one tiptoes up to the stage, looking out with luminous dark eyes. She is accompanied by her grandfather.

Rufus forces himself to smile and conduct the interview. He spits out the questions by rote, laughing mechanically at the appropriate times. He admires Rafael Ortega for his quiet courage, and the little girl for her determination.

The ones from eleven are slightly easier to deal with. Rufus manages to tease a few responses out of Helio, complimenting him on his training score, and asking him about his sister.

Helio squeezes Wren's hand fiercely. "I'd die to protect her. But we're going to make it through."

The ones from twelve stagger up on their twiggy limbs. Peat stares into space while his sister does the talking. The six minutes seem to last an eternity as Rufus asks about their life in the poorest district. Finally, the interviews are up, and Rufus bids goodbye to his audience.

This is the first time he thinks about retiring.

OOOOOOOOOO

Kestrel Gold has followed his grandmother over to the Whittaker house to keep Emily company. He thinks of it as an extension of his own house, remembering the times Oriole would rope him and Henry into a game of House or School or Dark Days. Kestrel hasn't been in here since the reaping, but everything is painfully familiar. There's the rickety rocking chair that Oriole liked to curl up on, even after she lost a tooth when it tipped over. And there's the faded rug that he and Henry would play trains on.

Emily curls up on herself, a tense, ragged ball of nerves. His grandmother slides her arm around her and murmurs soothing words. Kestrel perches on Oriole's rocking chair. When he was eight, she shoved him off it and he sprained his wrist. She didn't feel bad about it though, insisting that it was her property. He wouldn't talk to her for a month—Henry was forced into the role of the mediator—but then relented. She was his sister, after all.

Now, Kestrel watches as his best friends—_what the hell are they wearing?—_chat with Rufus. Emily stares at them as if she could beam herself through the screen and be with her children. When they leave the stage, Lidda Gold mutters a prayer.

OOOOOOOOOO

Mayor Tufts of District 9 sits on the beige couch with his family. Myra is tapping her fingers nervously on the arm—she's always done that during the interviews—and Rod and Pearl are playing on the floor. The mayor nervously reaches for another sweet as the District 9 tributes come onstage. He's gained five pounds since the reaping, but he doesn't know why these Games are making him so nervous. Just because they're siblings…

The mayor eats two more pastries during the rest of the interviews. When they are over, he resolves to have his cook make a dish for Mrs. Whittaker. It's the least he can do, after all.


	14. Preparations

I miss Kestrel. I wish he was in the Games with me, and not Henry. My motives are mostly selfish—he's a year older than Henry and a foot taller than I am. Guilt stabs me, but I ignore it. Anyways, if Kestrel was with me, Henry would be safe. We might even win.

I still remember when I pushed Kestrel off the rocking chair. Immediately after I'd done it, I was consumed with guilt. Not that I apologized. I suppose it worked out in the end, though: Kestrel hadn't touched the chair since.

Moonlight drips over the balcony, and I wrap my arms around my knees. Tomorrow, the Games begin, and for better or for worse, Kestrel's not with me. I should go to bed—who knows if I'll ever sleep again?—but I'm good at subsisting on little sleep. Sometimes, Henry and I have to stay out in the fields late, threshing grain to scrape up a few extra dollars. I can still remember the harvest moon hanging in the sky, as big and orange as a peach, and Henry, his head drooping, leaning on me as we walked home.

"You're out late." It's Lucas. Of course.

"The thought of impending death seems to make it hard to sleep." He flinches as if I punched him. One time, when I was eight, I pushed Kestrel into the stream by our houses. He came up, dripping wet, a piece of seaweed in his hair, steaming mad. Kestrel doesn't often get angry, but this time he was furious. He punched me in the nose so I shoved him back in, Henry hooting with laughter the whole time. Kestrel didn't punch me very hard.

"Don't say that. Two can win, so you have a better chance." Lucas sighs, leaning against the wall, unconvinced by his own words.

I snort.

"What were you thinking about anyways?" He slides down the wall to crouch next to me. The hairs on his tanned arm are standing on end.

"Kestrel," I tell him.

Lucas raises his eyebrows. "Your boyfriend?"

"No!" I say, a little too loudly. "No, he's my neighbor, and a year younger than me, but I've known him since he was born. He's my brother as much as Henry is."

Lucas is very much not my brother.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

I snort. "Not unless you count Ticky Buck in second grade when he kissed me on a dare behind the school."

Lucas laughs, rich and warm. Have I heard him laugh before?

I nudge him. "What about you?"

"Nope, no boyfriend."

"Hilarious."

His tone grows serious. "I had a girlfriend, but it…well, it didn't work out, after the Games. She didn't know what I went through."

If I survive, I'll know what it's like. That thought isn't exactly reassuring.

Lucas clears his throat and shifts his position. "How do you think your alliance is going to work out?"

"Who are you, Rufus?" I ask. "I don't know. I don't think they'll kill us in our sleep." Oh, damn, I wish I hadn't said that. I saw how much killing her allies tortured Aimee.

"She did what she had to do," Lucas says firmly. "The Careers would have been much more brutal."

"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I trusted them."

"Yeah," Lucas says. "They're good allies, it seems like."

I stand up awkwardly. I think my left foot fell asleep, it's crawling with a million pricks of numbness. "Better try to get some sleep."

Lucas scrambles to his feet. "Oriole, wait. I really think you and your brother can win. Promise me you'll try."

We're the second tributes he's mentored, and the prospect of both tributes coming home is tantalizing.

"I'd fight to the death for Henry. Looks like I'm going to."

Lucas grins. "Well, you've already got the best mentor in all of Panem."

"Yeah, Aimee's got so much experience and knowledge," I say. "She's great."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Yeah, her too. Although, she did save my life on occasion. I'll try to save yours."

I'm rooted to the ground, stunned into speechlessness. Then Lucas gives another easy grin, and punches me gently on the shoulder.

"Good luck, Oriole."


	15. Slaughtered

60 seconds.

The first thing all twenty-four tributes realize is that they are directly opposite from their partner.

59

Separated by the Cornucopia—a huge stone beast—and 100 yards of deadly space.

58

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 38th annual Hunger Games!"

57

Damn Flavia Flint and her sugary sweet voice.

56

55

54

53

OOOOOOOO

A sense of perfect calm overtakes Gavin. The eighteenth Games and the thirty-eighth merge together serenely. His vision sharpens. He knows what to do.

OOOOOOOOO

Silent tears drip down Alvin's face. The stone Cornucopia is blocking his view of Lucia. And he needs his cousin. He tries to focus on the surroundings, and through his blurry veil of tears, he realizes that the Cornucopia is enveloped by a tightly woven cluster of trees creating a perfect grassy circle. He hiccups. He just wants to go back home.

52

51

50

OOOOOOOOO

Chelsea Hamilton bounces on her platform, surveying the competition. Waves of excitement are darting through her. It doesn't bother her that she can't see her uncle. She'll meet up with Rhett and the other Careers soon. _If you visualize it, it will come true. _That's what her mother always said. Chelsea closes her eyes and pictures the President placing crowns on the heads of her and her uncle.

OOOOOOOOO

49

48

47

46

45

Mayva stretches out her hand, even though she can't see Marcus. She can feel him, though. Her blonde hair wafts across her face. It will be alright. After all, no one can resist a love story.

44

43

42

41

40

39

38

OOOOOOOOO

Seraphim notes that girls are spread across one side of the circle opposite the boys. She's between that stuck-up blonde bimbo and the sniveling District 3 girl. Carefully, so as not to set off the bomb on her platform, she draws her light brown hair back into a ponytail. First, she'll go for the Cornucopia. She's right by the mouth and can see a small pile of swords tumbling out. One of those is hers. Even before she lays her hands on one of those beauties, she'll be unstoppable. Seraphim's learned pressure points, where you have to punch a body so it will collapse on itself like a marionette whose strings were pulled.

37

36

35

34

33

32

OOOOOOOOOO

31

30

29

28

Lacey Trylle bites her knuckles so hard she can taste blood. The damned television is lingering on the curvy body of the District 4 girl instead of Henry.

"Lacey?" her mother says gently. "You can close your eyes, you know." Her dark eyes betray worry for her only daughter. Mr. Trylle is a grain merchant, and every year Lacey rests secure in the knowledge that she doesn't have to take any tesserae.

Lacey realizes that in her nervousness she's braided one side of her hair. She quickly shakes it out, letting her hair fall in tangled dark brown waves. Usually, she takes pride in her hair, brushing it until in shines.

27

26

25

24

OOOOOOOOO

Patrick swings his arms around, loosening up. He and Anthem agreed that she would run for some supplies while he covered her. His heart beats a steady tattoo. He can't help but picture his mother, a bottle of alcohol clutched tightly in her hand, staring at the screen.

23

22

21

20

That doesn't help him prepare. He shakes the image from his head, trying to concentrate. He can do this. Just because he's from 6 doesn't mean he can't be as ruthless as a Career.

OOOOOOOOOO

19

18

17

16

Woof tries to ignore Melanie's twittering in the District 8 room. She's babbling about true love and other crap. He wants to shake her, tell her that there's no such thing as love in Panem. He realized that twenty-two years ago when his beautiful district partner sold him out to the Careers. When his one true love betrayed him. No matter how much Melanie's mascara runs over these two tributes, Woof knows there is no way both of them will escape the Games unscathed.

OOOOOOOOOO

15

14

13

12

11

Elena gasps for breath, her face coated in mucus and tears. Her screams tear apart the air.

"Daddy! Don't let me die! _Daddy!"_

She thinks she can hear a low response, but these Games have torn her mind apart.

"_Daddy!_" she shrieks. And she stumbles off her platform.

OOOOOOOOOO

When Jack hears the blast he knows immediately what has happened. He does not think. He just runs to his baby girl.

OOOOOOOOOO

10987654321

And time is up for Oriole Whittaker. With the blast of the gong, she runs.

Henry.

Already, the arena has erupted into frenzied, animal screams. Oriole knows that she has to make it to him. She dodges two men trapped in a wrestling match and skirts the Cornucopia. Weapons. She needs something. Her fingers close on rough, heavenly wood. She swings it upward into the head of an approaching tribute, who stumbles backwards into the lethal embrace of Anna Vireo. Oriole keeps running.

OOOOOOOOO

Across the arena, Lucia sees the small shape of Alvin crumple to the ground. It is the last thing she sees.

OOOOOOOO

Marcus' lungs are about to burst, but he's made it to his girlfriend.

"Marcus!" she gasps, her face drenched with tears.

"We have to go," he tells her. He hasn't grabbed any weapons or supplies. She was his only goal.

Once upon a time, theirs was a charmed life. After the reaping, their last reaping, when they would both be safe forever, he was going to propose.

"Marcus!" Mayva shrieks. Marcus whirls around to see a spear hurtling towards the two of them. Marcus shoves Mayva behind him and the spear takes root in his heart.

OOOOOOOOO

Emily Whittaker has buried her face in his grandmother's shoulder. Kestrel is riveted to the screen. He watches the big District 1 male turn dispassionately away from the crumpled body of the District 8 male. The cameras zoom in on the blonde girl sobbing over the body. Flavia Flint comments sympathetically on the horrors of seeing true love smashed to pieces.

The cameras turn abruptly away from the scene to show the District 6 male club the pretty District 4 girl over the head. Kestrel can't suppress a gasp of horror as she crumbles to the ground, her head smashed open like a pumpkin.

"What happened?" Emily Whittaker shrieks.

Kestrel watches the District 6 male pull his sister up and run into the forest.

"Not your children," his grandmother murmurs, stroking her back. "Yours are perfectly safe."

**Thanks for reading so far! Three things**

**1) I'm going to camp, where, funnily enough, there is no internet, so there won't be any updates until Saturday.**

**2) If you have any suggestions for third person POVs I can take in the odd numbered chapters, leave me a comment in your review.**

**3) I have a poll up on my profile, and I would be ever so honored if you would grace it with your vote.**

**:)**


	16. Heartbeats

Henry is safe and I am safe but what is safety we are running and all I can feel is his hand in mine and I think I hear screams, death screams, there was so much blood, and I stumble over a rock, ankle twists, daggers of pain, keep running just keep running, maybe we can fly away home.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Oriole!"

I whirl around, yanking Henry with me. It's Helio, his handsome face layered in mud and blood. Next to him—_oh, thank you—_is Wren.

Henry gasps for breath.

"Were you followed?" I ask sharply.

Helio shakes his head.

"Glad you both made it," Wren says softly.

"Where are we?" Henry whispers.

I look up. Giant slabs of stone sky towards the heavens, wreathed in vines and hanging moss. They are about six feet thick and are lined up about thirty feet apart. I can't tell how wide or how tall they are. We seem to be on the edge of a row, standing on a carpet of lush green grass. This sure is different from Lucas' savanna. It seems completely alien to a simple District 9 girl.

"I don't like it," Helio says shortly. "No trees."

I shiver. The air is cool and damp.

"Well, what did y'all get?" Wren says brightly, obviously trying to change the subject.

I dump out my backpack, a small canvas bag. Inside is one bottle of water, a loaf of bread, tablets to cleanse any water we might find in the arena, and a small piece of white cheese. Helio grunts and dumps out his bag. It's three times the size of mine. I'm impressed.

Henry's eyes widen as he sees the treasures. One roll of bandages, a set of glasses—"Night vision," Wren says excitedly—a small dagger, which Helio hands to his sister, a larger loaf of bread, a thick woolen blanket, and a piece of waterproof material. Helio nods calmly.

The wind starts to swish about our heads, causing the plants on the stones to whisper and rustle. Wren looks about with frightened eyes, and Helio slides his arm around his sister.

"Now what?" Henry asks.

"Is anyone hurt?" I say. "We might as well treat it now." But we just have minor cuts and bruises.

"We need to find water." Wren bounces on the toes of her feet. "That's what they said in training."

I grab my staff, twisting it in my hands. Lucky for me that I impressed the Gamemakers enough so they put a staff in the Cornucopia for me.

"Let's go," Helio orders. "Keep quiet. Listen for rushing water and any other tributes. I'll go first. Oriole, you take the rear."

Henry trots obediently after Helio. He never listens to me like that anymore, although when we were little, he'd do anything I said. I smile as I remember how I put a crown of flowers in his hair because he wanted to be like me. That sure pissed Papa off. My smile fades as I think of my father. When he shaved his face, Henry and I stood next to him and played with the foam. The next day, though, Papa would have stubble. Eventually, he settled for keeping his beard trimmed as neat as he could.

I step as lightly as I can through this strange jungle, keeping my staff at the ready, eyes darting into the shadows. Rain begins to lightly fall, placing tiny kisses on our faces.

Helio leads us in a weaving path around the stones. I try as hard as I can to listen, but all I can hear is the rain. It begins to pick up, beating a tattoo against our skin.

And then the cannons sound. I jump, and then relax. The bloodbath must be over. I count the booms that signal the ending of a life. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

I exchange a glance with my brother. He shrugs his shoulders. We both saw the District 7 tributes get blasted apart, but the bloodbath was too chaotic to tell who else died.

"Let's just keep going," Wren mutters, inching closer to Helio. We set off again.

Helio curses, and then suddenly stops, holding up his hand. Henry crashes into him, and I smirk.

"What is it?" Wren murmurs. Helio frantically motions for us to take cover. We plaster ourselves against the stone, using the wet vines to camouflage our bodies. Helio holds the sword at the ready. Henry doesn't have a weapon, I realize. I'm going to have to protect him.

I hold my breath, gripping my staff so tightly that the grain of the wood is going to leave marks on my palms. There is a slight rustle, and then—

I can't suppress a gasp. A magnificent bird soars from the top of the stone, trailing a tail of white and silver feathers. The raindrops slide off its feathers, making them sparkle. Silver talons curl underneath. It curves its long neck from side to side, and I shiver at the sight of its powerful beak. It must have a wingspan of at least twelve feet.

We stand, as still as statues, though I can almost feel the nervous energy from Wren and Henry. My father told me that predatory birds have excellent eyesight and can see the tail of a field mouse twitch in an ocean of grain while soaring far up in the sky.

Its jewel-like eyes seem to fasten on us, and I brace myself for an attack, but then it swings around and flies off, swallowed up by the fog.

Henry peels himself away from the stone, and collapses on the ground. "What the _hell _was that?"

"One hell of a mutation," Helio says grimly. "Who knows what else is out here?"


	17. Hunted

Strange how life just keeps going on. Kestrel paces the room in time with the small group of tributes led by the powerful District 11 male. His heart is beating, blood is pumping through his veins, his lungs expand and collapse, his stomach churns, his cells divide, his muscles relax and contract, his life goes on.

He hears a shout from the television and whirls around. Watching the Games is the worst torture imaginable.

But it's a shout of joy. Kestrel relaxes, sagging against the weathered wall, as he watches the four tributes plunge their hands under a waterfall.

OOOOOOOO

Gavin leans against the Cornucopia, sharpening his sword. He watches Anna's golden hair dance in the sunlight as she jabbers to Seraphim about her kills. Then his gaze cuts to Rhett, pacing around the bloodstained grass. There's no way he can stay in the Careers alliance. With Chelsea dead, he's unpredictable. Gavin's going to let him stay for now. For one thing, he's younger than Gavin, tanned and toned. He's not going to provoke a confrontation unless he has to.

The sun slowly sinks into the sky, casting long shadows on the ground. Gavin eyes the mysterious stones. He turns towards the other members of his alliance who have spread their vast bounty on the ground.

"What do you think about a little bit of tribute hunting?"

OOOOOOOO

It's eerie how clean the rooms are in the Capitol. Not a speck of dust. Even his house in the Victor's Village is dirty, the front room littered with chaff. Lucas presses his face to the tiny screen. He watches Oriole, laughing, splash her brother with the water from the waterfall. Her auburn hair flies as she ducks.

Lucas turns his attention to the map. They made good distance from the Cornucopia. The nearest tributes are District 10, but they shouldn't pose any threat. Lucas lets out the breath he's been holding, and Aimee glances at him from across the room.

"You get used to it, as the years go on."

Lucas shrugs, turning away. That's what she said last year as they watched their tributes face the Bloodbath. One made it out, the boy, and they held their breaths, daring to hope for another victory. But on the second day, he ran into the Careers, and it was off with his head.

Aimee clears her throat. "Listen. I'm going to try to rustle up sponsors. I'll be back soon, okay?"

Lucas nods, turning back to the screen. He should go with Aimee, he knows. He's somewhat good-looking and can be charming on occasion, but he feels—and it's just a stupid superstition, he knows that—that if he takes his eyes off the screen, Oriole and her brother will be gone forever.

OOOOOOOOOO

Ash runs, as fast as she can, trying to escape from the image of Peat's last moments. There was the gong, and she ran toward him, and then she saw him stumble into that District 1 bitch. And then there was the knife, and Peat's blood spattering on the earth. And then she turned and ran.

She has no weapons, no supplies, but then, she's from District 12. It's not like she ever had a chance.

Wetness touches her cheeks, but Ash keeps running through the rain and her tears.

"You have to protect him, Ash. You have to keep him alive." Ash can still feel the places on her shoulders where her mother shook her.

She let him die.

She shakes her head fiercely. It's not her fault Peat was never quite right, that the kids would pick on him. It's not her fault she got reaped and he got pulled along with her.

"Where are you running to, darling?"

Ash stumbles to a halt, her heart in her mouth. It's the big man from District 1. Her eyes widen in terror, and she backpedals.

Right into Seraphim.

"I don't think so," the District 2 girl scolds. Gavin nods his assent, and Seraphim pins Ash against the wall. Ash twists, frantically trying to free herself from the grasp of the predator. The other Careers have gathered like hungry wolves.

"Anyone with you?" asks Anna. At the sight of her brother's killer, Ash curses and struggles harder than ever. Seraphim casually backhands her. She hears chuckles as her head slams into the stone.

"Well?" Seraphim demands. Ash shakes her head, tears pricking her vision.

Seraphim looks around. "Mind if I take this?"

"I call the next one," Sartorius says. Anna rolls her perfect green eyes. "I'm going to find a source of water." She turns to go, her father following her. Rhett skulks in the shadows.

"Alright, then," Seraphim says, a twisted smile on her face. She starts in, carving flowers and vines on Ash's arms. Ash fills the arena with her screams. Seraphim's knife starts drawing a miniature butterfly on her face. The stench of blood hangs heavy in the air.

And Ash, filled to the breaking point with fear and desperation, slams her own head against the stone. She welcomes the darkness gladly. The last thing she hears is Seraphim cursing that her victim has slipped away.

OOOOOOOOO

Paloma crouches next to her grandfather as they show the faces in the sky. Both from District 3. She lets out a sob, and Grandpapa hugs her. And the District 4 girl. She was so pretty. And then there's the ones from District 7, Jack with wrinkles on his face from smiling too much, and his dark-haired daughter Elena. Next is the District 8 boy. He's the one who saved his girlfriend. Paloma hopes she's okay, even though she knows that she must be crushed. And then both from District 12, and then the stars are all that's left in the sky.

**Sorry the update took so long! I was at camp, and then I had writer's block, and I just couldn't think about what to do. If any of you were on pins and needles, I apologize.**

**If you have read my other story, I'm planning to do two one-shots about two of the characters from it. (You can probably guess who.)**

**Again, please vote in my poll, and if you have any suggestions for POVs during the odd chapters, let me know!**


	18. Alliances

Feathery beams of sunlight float through the arena. I stand and stretch. Henry's still sleeping, curled up against one of the massive stones covered in a blanket of vines. He looks so much younger asleep. Less obnoxious.

Helio nods at me from where he was keeping watch.

"Good morning," I say, even though it isn't.

He grunts in response. I paw through my backpack, wondering what we should have for breakfast.

"We'll split the loaf in your bag," Helio says, his deep voice echoing off the stone.

"It's not much," I say, looking at the loaf doubtfully. Helio shrugs and I realize he must be used to going with little food. We never had an abundance, except the year that Lucas won, but I've never gone to bed hungry.

Helio glances to where Wren is still sleeping. "We need to talk."

I look at him, startled at the gravity of his tone.

"About?"

"This alliance. Our strategy. I think we should try to climb one of the stones."

I laugh in disbelief. "Are you serious? Anything could be up there! We saw that bird yesterday, and let me tell you, I do _not _want to get near those talons."

Helio looks at me stonily, a common expression for him. "But everyone else is down here. You heard that cannon last night, after the Bloodbath was long over. Someone got caught by the Careers."

"How are we going to climb it? You're the only one of us who's strong enough to make it. And if we do meet something—which we probably will—how are we going to fight it? You could take it with your sword, and I'd probably be some help with my staff, but Henry doesn't have a weapon, and do you want to lead Wren against something?"

Helio grips the hilt of his sword when I mention Wren. "We leave them down here. They can hide in the vines, run if they have to."

A ball of fear knots in my stomach. I don't _want_ to climb up one of these freaky slabs of rock battling some creature from the corners of nightmares armed only with a wooden staff. Images of my mangled and broken body flash through my head. But there's no way in hell that I'm going to admit my paralyzing fear to Helio. I set my jaw. "Fine. When?"

Helio sighs, scanning the forest of stone. Apart from Henry's snoring and the rustling wind, everything's still and silent. Still, I can't help but imagine a tribute hiding behind every stone.

"We should go today. Gather all our supplies up, leave them with Wren and Henry in case we don't make it back." I don't like how he speaks so casually of our impending death. But then I realize that he really expects to survive. For Wren.

"One more thing, Oriole." His jaw is clenched. "This alliance is going to have to end at some point."

I remember Aimee's tattered expression when she smothered her allies. Is he going to kill us? Helio's not cruel, but I know he would do absolutely anything for his sister.

"When it gets down to eight, we're going to leave. And then all bets are off."

I nod and extend my hand. He grasps it and shakes, hard. I stare into his dark brown eyes, see that he doesn't want this, either.

"Alright." Helio claps his hands briskly. "Wren? Time to get up!"

His sister wriggles down into the vines, then stirs, rubbing her eyes. She pulls herself up gracefully. "Morning, Helio. Morning, Oriole."

Helio hands her a quarter of the loaf and she munches on it. "Beautiful day!"

"Henry, get up, you lazy lump!" He groans at the sound of my voice and burrows deeper into the vines. "Henry!" I shake his shoulders.

"Shut _up, _Oriole," he grumbles.

"Lazy toad. Guess you won't get any breakfast." That perks him right up.

After eating—I still have a hollow in my stomach—Helio explains his plan. As expected, this is met with groans, protestations, and outright threats of mutiny.

"Shut up, Henry," I say. "I'm going up because I got a higher training score than you—I don't care if it was only by two, it was still higher—and because I have a weapon and you don't."

"That's bull," he says. "I'm stronger."

I hate to admit this, but it is true. It was painful the day we discovered he was the same height as me.

"But you don't have a weapon so you're staying down here," Helio orders. Henry shuts up right away, the little troll. Damn, I wish my voice was as deep and threatening as Helio's.

"What about me?" Wren protests. "I have a knife."

"So you need to protect Henry," Helio says firmly.

"I don't _need _protection," Henry snaps, his hazel eyes flashing.

"Yes, you do. For the fiftieth time, you have no weapon." I glare at him, crossing my arms.

"It's settled," Helio says gravely. "Now be quiet. We don't want to attract any attention."

As we give them our supplies, the wind picks up. I don't bother mentioning this to Helio to argue that we should delay our trip. Nothing short of a hurricane could postpone it.

I use a length of vine to strap my staff to my back, but I know it's still going to be cumbersome when I climb. Helio's sword is easier to manage. I swing my arms in preparation, grateful for those long hours threshing the grain. I'm stronger than most girls my age from other districts.

Helio and I head over to the stone, my frantic heart reminding me that certain death awaits me at the top.

"Oriole?" Henry says. "Just…come back, okay?" I can hear the unspoken words. _Like Daddy never did._

I ruffle his hair. He hates this more than anything, but this time he lets me do it. "Shut up, okay? I'll come back. We stick together."

Wren has wrapped Helio in a cobra grip. I can imagine that the audience is just eating this up.

Helio breaks apart and starts for the vines. I follow him, looking over my shoulder. Henry waves and then gives me a thumbs up and a goofy grin. I grin back and watch Henry and Wren hurry around to another stone to hide.

Climbing isn't too hard. I can find footholds in the vines most of the time, and when I can't, I use my arms to pull me up, hand over hand. I focus on Helio's feet just above me—I have to keep up with him—and the familiar burn in my shoulders.

And then we're up. Helio surveys the land, feet spread apart in a defensive position. The stone is six feet thick. Nausea rushes up. We're so high—I could easily fall—and then I would be smashed on the ground—and Henry would surely die, too.

I force myself to keep looking around. And then I notice the nest. It's taller than I am, a tangle of vines and metal. I think I can see the hilt of a sword peeking out. Even though the nest is about thirty yards away, I know there's no way we can share the stone with whatever lurks inside. We're going to have to kill it.

"Stay behind me," Helio mutters, advancing towards the gaping maw of the nest. I skitter behind him, bracing myself for an attack.

When we're about fifteen feet from the giant nest, there's an earsplitting screech and an explosion of metal and feathers.

All I see are giant silver talons and I realize it's the bird we saw last night. Before I can react, Helio swings his sword. Instead of slicing into the bird, a horrid clang reverberates in the air. The bird—but it's not actually a bird, is it?—swings around towards me, blue eyes sparking. I twist my staff up and slam it into its head with all my might. Sparks shoot out, and for one blissful second, I think I've killed it.

Then my delusion shatters as it opens its beak to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth and dives towards us.


	19. Saved

The vines tickle his face and scratch his side, but Henry keeps still. Wren fidgets next to him.

"I hope they're okay," she whispers.

"Yeah," Henry mutters, trying not to concentrate on how pretty she is.

Wren turns her head and the leaves rustle. "You need a weapon, don't you?"

Henry swallows. "Do you see any lying around?"

Waiting makes him nervous. He doesn't exactly enjoy trusting his sister to fight some Capitol mutation. She's brave and all, but…

Wren rolls her chocolate-brown eyes. "Maybe your sponsors will give you something?"

"Maybe," Henry says doubtfully. He doesn't think he made much of an impression, although it was fun having all eyes fixed on him. Being the star, instead of in Oriole's shadow.

Suddenly, Wren jerks. "Did you hear that?" she breathes.

Henry begins to shake his head, but then he hears something—or some_one—_crashing through the undergrowth. Wren grasps his hand, her fingernails digging in.

OOOOOOOOO

Sartorius scrapes the rock against his knife. Anna shoots him a nasty look, wincing at the awful sound, but he ignores her. He looks up as his twin comes into the camp empty-handed.

"Thought you were going to find food," he says mockingly.

Seraphim makes a rude gesture in his direction and plops down by the Cornucopia. "I looked."

Anna smirks, and Sartorius makes a mental note to get rid of her as soon as they don't need her. "Whatever," he says, testing the blade of the knife against his finger. A tiny gem of blood wells up. "We've got enough supplies to last us for a couple more days."

Gavin Vireo saunters over. "Right now, the other tributes are more pressing. Who's up for another hunt?"

OOOOOOOOOO

"Alright, girl. I've found you now!"

Ptarmigan whirls around, hands flying to her knife. Damn. Damn! She thought she was free of that bastard.

She glances around for somewhere to run as he saunters around one of those creepy stone tablets. But she's backed up against the stone.

Her stepfather smirks, holding the sword right in front of Ptarmigan's throat. "How…_nice… _to be reunited."

"Damn you to hell," Ptarmigan spits, reaching for her knife. But before she can pull it out of the sheath, he slams her up against the stone.

"Don't try anything," he snaps. Ptarmigan can smell his foul breath, a sickly miasma. "You are going to do what needs to be done so I can get out of here, understand? If you behave, you can come too."

A hot, burning rage kindles in Ptarmigan's stomach. There's no way she's going to be the bait for him, no way she's going to wait on him hand and foot here. She's armed, not defenseless anymore.

"Well? Do we have an agreement?" he demands.

"We do," Ptarmigan says softly. "We do."

OOOOOOOOO

Mayva stumbles down an aisle of stone. The vines whip her face and grasp her hair, but she doesn't care. She has no weapons, no supplies, just the sound of his name in her heart.

_Marcus._

He died for her, and as the light vanished from his eyes, she saw all of their plans of marriage, and a little house, and beautiful children, crumble to dust. She is an empty hollow husk without him.

She keeps running. There is a small feeble hope that she can win the Games, but winning means nothing without Marcus. She doesn't stand a chance, anyways. Living in the industrial part of District 8 means she has no experience with surviving outdoors.

_Marcus._

Lighting struck in her heart when they kissed, and when they stopped, she was shaking, waiting for his next touch. He breathed her name into her golden hair, traced pictures of their future on her skin, whispered promises while she slept.

Mayva skitters to a halt, gaping at the dark storm gathering down the aisle. She tries to turn around when she realizes that it is a cloud of tiny birds.

But they are upon her with razor sharp beaks and metallic feathers, and Mayva whispers _his _name just before her cannon sounds.

OOOOOOOO

Wren hears the cannon and her heart stops. Was that Helio or Oriole? She sees the same desperate fear etched on Henry's face, and feels a stab of agonizing guilt that she wishes it was Oriole's cannon, if that would only mean Helio is alive.

And then a shape emerges from the undergrowth.

OOOOOOOOOO

The mechanical bird unleashes a rusty screech. Helio slams to the ground as it shoots toward him. He scrambles up, sword at the ready as it swings around. Every sense is sharpened as he focuses on the battle ahead. What's going to be tricky is that the stone slab is only six feet wide. If it was another tribute, he'd simply toss him over the edge. But the bird can fly.

It hisses, jutting its neck forward, mouth crammed with shards of metal teeth. Helio grits his teeth and swings upward, the impact coursing through his arm. A few metal feathers are sheared off. They chime as they hit the ground. As the bird tries to attack again, Oriole's staff blocks its beak. It turns toward the girl but before it can do anything, Helio attacks it with the flat of his blade. Maybe they can batter the bird to death, he hopes.

But the bird is deadly fast and darts out of the way, spitting. As it climbs up into the sky, Helio wipes the spit away from his cheek. It _burns._

"Oh, damn, it's spitting acid," Oriole whispers. Helio doesn't answer. He focuses on the silver shape in the gray sky. The wind begins to pick up, swirling Oriole's auburn hair around. A cannon booms, and all blood drains from Helio's face.

_Wren._

But he can't stop, he has to fight for his sister. The bird scorches down from the heavens, faster than anything he's ever seen. Helio desperately slashes at the mechanical creature with his sword. Rain begins to swirl around them as his sword clangs against the bird's metallic flesh. Most of the time, the bird is too fast for his blows. It circles around them, and darts back in to slash at their faces with its deadly talons. Blood drips down into his eyes, but Helio keeps fighting.

Lightning rips the sky into and the bird screeches.

"Helio!" Oriole gasps. He turns to look at her and the bird's wing crashes into her, slicing her with its feathers. Oriole screams, and Helio frantically batters it with his sword. The bird caws, then arcs upward.

Oriole picks herself up, blood raining from her wounds. Thunder bellows. Helio keeps one eye on the bird as he looks at his ally.

"What?"

"The rain," Oriole gasps. "It's going to rust. We just have to keep it out here long enough."

Helio's about to say that surely the Capitol would rust-proof its mutts, but then one of the fallen feathers catches his eye. It's coated in a thin layer of rust.

He nods at Oriole and the girl nods back as they turn to face the mechanical demon.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rough wooden spear shaft brings back memories of training in District 2, but Sartorius pushes them away. He has to focus on his mission.

"I don't see anything," Seraphim whispers, peering at the vine covered stone.

Anna rolls her perfect green eyes. "Right there. A lump. Someone's hiding."

"Or _something," _Sartorius hisses. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, wondering if Gavin and Rhett found anybody. He's glad he's not with Rhett. Ever since Chelsea died, the District 4 male just got quieter and quieter till Sartorius was creeped out. Poor bastard probably realized that the Careers would have little use for him soon.

"We can handle a mutt," Seraphim says, readying her knives. "Go ahead, Sartorius." She nudges her twin forward.

Sartorius takes a breath to steady himself and pushes his brown hair out of his eyes. He starts slowly towards the disturbance in the vines, pushing his worry away. They can definitely defeat a mutt. He and Seraphim are unstoppable together.

As Sartorius is about to launch his spear, two figures break free from the vines and dart around to the other side of the stone. Sartorius hurls his spear, and it misses the smaller figure by an inch. A heartbeat later, Seraphim's knives are soaring through the air.

Sartorius charges around the stone slab, grasping his fallen spear on the way. The two tributes are racing away through the labyrinth of stone slabs. They're fast, but he's faster.

"Spread out!" he yells. "We'll flush the little rats out!"

OOOOOOOO

"Lucas? Lucas!"

Lucas stares in horror at the screen, utterly mute. Pure terror crashes through him. He clenches his fists, but he is absolutely powerless to stop the events from unfolding.

"Lucas? Calm down! I got some sponsor money, not a lot, but we could send something." Aimee's forehead is creased in worry.

Lucas takes a deep shuddering breath to steady himself. He watches as Henry and Wren stumble around the stones. The cameras flash back to show the Careers, panting like hungry wolves, hot on the trail. And then the scenes of Helio and Oriole's desperate battle, the wind and the rain crashing around them. How long before one of them falls from the stones slick wit rain? He could hardly stand it when the mechanical bird clubbed Oriole with its wing, and she was left covered in blood.

"How much?" Lucas asks, so softly he isn't sure Aimee can hear it over the Games raging in the background.

"Enough for one gift," Aimee says, her back ramrod straight. Lucas knows that once again, she's forced to make a terrible decision. Which tribute to save?

Lucas wants to send something to Oriole, something that could break through the bird's iron feathers. He's not going to, though.

"Send something to Henry. He doesn't have a weapon."

Aimee doesn't ask him if he's sure. She just strides over and taps the touch screen a few times.

OOOOOOOO

Lacey Trylle holds her breath as Henry dashes around the stone jungle. The winds howl and lightning carves through the sky.

"Lacey? Lace, it's okay." Lacey ignores her mother and focuses on the screen, biting her tongue so hard she can taste blood. The screen switches to a shot of the District 10 tributes huddling under a shrub, and she wants to scream. Henry is in mortal danger!

Finally, the television shows the Careers, heads down, pressing on through the rain, and then Henry and the District 11 girl. Still alive.

And then a parachute, buffeted by the storm, falls down from the sky. Henry pounces on it, tearing it open.

It's a sword. Well, more of a long dagger, really, but the delight on Henry's face is evident. Lacey would have laughed, but she saw how fast the Careers were.

Henry bends close to the little District 11 girl, then the two of the hide behind a slab, weapons at the ready.

When the Careers come around the corner, they leap out. There is a flash of metal, a spray of blood, a cry of rage, and then Henry and the girl are off again.

The District 2 girl is clutching her stomach, her face a mask of anger. Her brother sighs. "I'll stay with her. You keep going."

The District 1 girl tosses her blonde hair and sighs, eying the storm doubtfully. "Fine."

But she's too slow to catch them again. Henry's safe.

"Yes!" Lacey screams, ignoring the puzzled looks of her parents.

OOOOOOOOO

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. What an exciting second day it has been! But it's not over yet!"

Flavia Flint pauses to preen for the camera, fluffing her magenta hair.

"First we had the ever so tragic death of Mayva Perry and the end of District 8's heartbreaking love story."

The screens show the flock of metal birds tearing Mayva apart.

Flavia sighs sympathetically. "Then we had the daring escape of two of our youngest tributes just moments ago. Here it is in case you missed it." Flavia twirls her hair around her fingers, imagining the party at the end of the Games. She can hardly wait.

"And now, their older siblings must battle a mechanical bird on top of a giant, but narrow, stone during a fearsome storm! Let's watch that now, shall we? Oooh, there's Helio of District 11—fine strong boy there, take note of that, sponsors—swinging his sword. Let's hope he can keep this up. His sword doesn't seem to be doing much damage. With him is Oriole Whittaker of District 9—unimpressive training score, but she seems to be holding her own. Oh, she slipped!" Flavia holds her breath as Oriole manages to clamber to her feet a second before the bird spits acid at the spot where she just was. "Back up again! She swings her staff—and oh, she misses. That's a tricky birdy! They've been fighting for just about an hour now. Oooh, Helio managed to make contact. A nice blow, see the shower of sparks. But that bird's still undefeated. Helio swings again as Oriole swings from the other side and—what is this? The bird spirals to the ground, but the force of the blow seems to have knocked Oriole back. See, she's hanging by her fingers on the edge of the stone. And…"

Flavia squints at the screen to get a better look. Helio raises his sword for the death blow of the mutation, but then…

"A flash of lightning! And Helio ducks, dropping his sword—good move, don't want to be electrified—and the lightning bolt hits the birdy! Anyone want fried mutt?" Flavia laughs artificially as the bird crumbles into a mass of stinking wires and charred metal. Helio scrambles over and tugs Oriole up from the side of the cliff. The two tributes collapse against each other.

Yes, Flavia thinks, that party is going to be great. Should she wear her purple snakeskin shoes or the sky-high leopard print pumps? Decisions, decisions.

**Thanks for your reviews!**


	20. Scars

We made it. Relief crushes me as the rain slides down my face. I'm alive. Alive.

I collapse to the ground, shuddering with exhaustion. Helio is bent over, examining the charred wreckage of the mutt, but I'm too beaten to pretend I'm strong. I close my eyes. It occurs to me that I could lie here forever, letting the rain wash away my blood, above the carnage happening below. I could just sink into the stone and never wake up.

Henry.

With a groan, I pull myself up to a sitting position. The cannon. My heart stumbles. If it was him…

"We have to go back down!"

Helio turns from his examination of the metal bird. "How are you doing?" His voice is annoyingly even.

"Oh, I'm torn to shreds and bleeding to death here. How are you?" He doesn't blink.

"Alive."

"Charming. But we have to go back down. The cannon." That's all I need to say. The blood drains from Helio's dark face. I hate myself for wishing this, but I'd rather it be Wren's cannon then Henry's. But I know Helio is wishing the opposite. If one of them is…well, dead, then our shaky alliance is broken.

I swallow my nausea and pain and turn to head down the ledge. My hands slide on the wet rock. I'm shaking with exhaustion, barely able to find footholds. I stumble against the stone, scraping my battle-scarred skin But I don't feel the pain. The adrenaline I felt in the battle with the metal bird is surging again. I have to find my brother.

Miraculously, we make it to the bottom of the cliff and stumble forward, peering into the thick dusk. The rain has slowed to a dribble. I want to scream Henry's name, but I know we have to be quiet.

Helio's eyes glow in the shadows as he starts creeping forward. We make our way, predator-like, to the vine-covered stone where we left our siblings.

They're not there.

My heart drops, plummeting into my stomach. I feel like the ground has opened up under my feet and I'm free-falling.

One cannon. Just one. So one of them, at least, is alive.

I look over at Helio, a sudden burst of anger blazing through me. This was his idea, his fault that I'm bleeding in at least fifty different places, his fault that Henry and Wren are gone. I open my mouth to let an acidic stream of curses pour out when he holds up his hand.

"Wait."

I stand, as still as the stone slabs all around me. All I hear is the soft spatter of rain and the whisper of wind. Helio glides forward and retrieves a knife from a tangle of vines. I dart forward and tear the weapon from his hands.

"There's no blood," Helio whispers harshly. "So you can let go now."

"What the hell does that mean?" I snap, my temper frayed.

"Someone attacked them—probably the Careers—but they got away." He glares at me. We both know that one of them could be dead. And the other? My mind fills with images of Henry, bleeding to death in the forest, or the Careers torturing him for information. Nausea surges, but I force it down.

I draw my staff, wishing I could _do _something. And then I hear it—the Capitol anthem. We can find out if our siblings are alive.

I feel like I've been set on fire as I wait. And then the picture—

-it's not Henry. Or Wren.

My legs give out and I melt against the stone behind me. It's Mayva Perry, the pretty star-crossed lover from Eight. Doomed from the start.

And that's it. The anthem wafts over the arena. I look at Helio. His jaw is clenched as he stares at the sky.

I remember something. "Wren's got night-vision goggles. And they know that we're alive. Why don't we wait here until they find us?"

Helio looks derisively at me, but he knows we don't have a better option. The first aid supplies are with them, too, so there's nothing I can do for my shredded skin. Helio seems to be in better shape than I am. He bounces the flat of his sword in the palm of his hand as we wait.

"So," I say, to distract myself from the pain. "How's life in District 11?"

Helio sighs. "Life, I guess. I work in the fields from sunrise until sunset. It's hard work, but at least I get to be outside. Wren works in the orchards. She gets to climb the trees. She's good at that." He clamps his mouth shut again.

"Any other siblings?"

"Nope. Just us, our father, and our grandmother."

"Henry's my only sibling," I say, because it doesn't seem like he's going to ask me. "But my neighbor, Kestrel, he's practically my brother cause all he's got is his grandmother. He's a year younger. We all go to school, but we work in the fields after school. I was probably going to drop out and work in the fields full time. We needed the money."

Helio grunts.

"I like District 9, though," I continue. "The fields are so pretty and golden. We have a lot of bakers—they're the richer folk, ahead of us laborers—so it always smells like fresh bread. And we have grain mills and silos. It's a nice place. Glad we don't live in 6—I've heard the pollution is unbearable. So, do you have a girlfriend?"

He blinks, startled. "Why the hell would you ask that?"

"Well," I drawl, "we're in fight to the death. It doesn't really seem like for tactfulness, does it? And I was just curious. Don't worry, I'm not going to declare my undying love for you."

"No, no girlfriend," he mutters.

"It's okay, I'm single, too," I tell him. I'm feeling strangely giddy knowing Henry is alive. "I always tell people that I haven't found a fellow dragon slayer yet. Although now I'm going to have to look for fellow mutt slayers."

Helio nods, his gaze fixed on the shadows.

"Did you hear that?" I whisper.

"What?"

"That," I say, as Henry and Wren stumble over to us.

OOOOOOOOOO

So many times I have told my brother to please put his head in the wheat thresher or tie stones to his feet and jump in the river. And now he's here.

Helio has tossed Wren up like she's a doll and now he's squeezing her tight to his chest. Henry and I just stare at each other, and I think that if we make it through these Games, our relationship has irrevocably changed.

"What happened?" we say at the same time.

"Jinx," Henry says, grinning.

Under the layer of shadows, I can see a network of thin cuts on his face. I can't believe we're both alive. For the briefest of moments, I regret the time I pushed him in the creek and he hit his head. And then I remember it was because he threw my doll in a mud puddle.

"Oriole?" Helio says. "We should go up now."

Henry and I walk side by side as we ascend the cliff. My numb fingers manage to take me to the top once again. Helio spreads the blanket on the stone.

"I'll keep watch," he says, although I can see the exhaustion behind his eyes.

"No, I'll do it," Henry says firmly, and I turn in surprise. Is this really the same boy who would fake a stomachache to get out of chores?

Helio shrugs. Wren curls up next to him, and he slides his arms around her. I lie down nearby as Henry stands, resolute, staring into the star-studded sky.


	21. Betrayed

Knock, knock.

Mayor Tufts of District 9 slowly lowers his hand and glances around self-consciously. He feels like the knock has reverberated around the entire district.

Slowly, the door creaks open.

"Yes?" It's an old lady, the Gold woman. Mayor Tufts scrambles to remember her name. Lyra? Libby? Oh, well.

"Mrs. Gold?" he asks, bobbing on his feet. "Is Mrs. Whittaker home?" The old lady—Lidda, that's it, Lidda Gold—narrows her eyes at him.

"And what would you be wanting with Emily, Mr. Mayor?" Lidda Gold says.

Mayor Tufts gulps, feeling his morning breakfast of an omelet and French toast churn inside his ample stomach. Then he reminds himself that he is the mayor, after all.

"I'd like to see her, Mrs. Gold. She's not in any trouble of course."

"I would hope not," the old lady says pertly. She shuffles into the house and comes out with a tearful Emily Whittaker.

"Mayor Tufts," Mrs. Whittaker sniffles. Her eyes are red and gray-streaked hairs are falling out of her chestnut brown bun. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The old lady pats her on the shoulder, giving the mayor a threatening look.

"Mrs. Whittaker," the mayor begins, "I come to express my condolences and share my hopes for your children. Oriole and Henry were—I mean, are—fine members of District 9. I'm not like most mayors—I care for the citizens. But I think you should know—I mean, I don't tell this to every parent," he babbles, "but I've talked to the school teacher and the supervisors in the fields, and from what I know of your children—Henry's the same age as my Pearl—and of course, I've seen them around town, well, I just want to tell you that I think they have a fighting chance."

"So you think they can win," Lidda Gold says, fixing the mayor with a hawk-like stare. Emily Whittaker gazes hopefully at Mayor Tufts.

The mayor nods eagerly, his chins wiggling. "I do. I really do. I thought Lucas Marsh had it in him and I was right. I'm rarely wrong."

Emily Whittaker sighs, and Mayor Tufts desperately wishes he will never know the despair she is feeling. "Thank you, Mayor," she whispers. "Thank you for the hope."

OOOOOOOOOO

Sartorius covers his ears. Seraphim's been swearing under her breath ever since she woke up. He tried to bandage his sister's stomach as best as he could, after the brat from 9 slashed it, but she's going to be out of commission for the next few days. If she was just a little faster…she could have dodged, and Anna Vireo wouldn't be looking at them like a snake sizing up her next meal.

"What are you lookin' at?" Sartorius growls.

Anna flips her hair over her shoulder. "Nothing. Only, we ought to kill _someone. _There's still ten left besides us."

Sartorius tosses the knife he's been sharpening down. "Alright, let's go."

"Hey," Seraphim whines. "What about me?"

Anna smirks. "Well, you can't really do anything, can you, dear?"

"Shut up, bitch," Seraphim snaps.

"Shut up, both of you," Sartorius says, although he could gladly wring Anna's neck. "You and I will go."

Anna glances around. Rhett is at the other side of the Cornucopia clearing, idly slashing the vines with his sword. Gavin went out to gather water. "I've been thinking," she says. "Daddy and I were talking, and there's not really much use for Rhett anymore. So why don't we take him with us?"

Sartorius' blood runs cold. It's one thing to kill a random tribute they run into, but something else entirely to plot the murder of an ally. Then he glances at his twin, whose eyes are filled with fire. They've got to win.

"Alright," he says.

Anna grins viciously. "Rhett?" she calls, her voice dripping with honey. "Why don't you come tribute hunting with us?"

OOOOOOOOO

Paloma is starving. She doesn't mention it to her grandfather, but the hunger gnawing at her stomach is hard to ignore. It's the third day of the Games, and all she's had is water.

"Grandpapa?" she asks.

"Yes, Palomita?" Rafael Ortega is weaving the vines together to make a lasso. Paloma watches, fascinated, as his fingers deftly knot and twist the vines.

"What are we going to do?"

"Oh, Palomita, we're going to survive. Of course we are. We'll just hide here, and maybe an animal will wander by, and I'll catch it. We'll just wait here and we'll be safe and sound."

Paloma bites her lip. She misses Tomasito, her six-year-old brother. And her mother. She doesn't like sleeping on the hard ground, wrapped in vines, wondering if she'll survive the night. She just wants to go home.

But, she thinks, they have somewhat of a chance. A very small whisper of a chance. They're good at hiding. They just melted into the stone when the Careers came by, chasing the little tributes from 9 and 11. She thought for sure the pretty District 1 girl would find her, but she didn't.

"Grandpapa?"

"I hear it," her grandfather replies calmly. He scoops Paloma up, and she wriggles into a niche in the stone, her heart skittering in her chest. She draws the vines over her body, as below her, Rafael crawls into a tiny cave.

The footsteps become louder, and Paloma sees fragments of three of the Careers through the vines. She holds her breath.

They don't see her.

Then, she hears something else. The beating of wings. The Careers hear it too; the younger two glance up and grip their weapons. The older one, the one from District 4 who lost his niece, leans despondently against a stone slab.

Paloma slaps her hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp as a silver streak shoots down. It's a bird, she realizes in wonder, a metal bird.

The two younger Careers scatter. The District 4 tribute looks up too late. The bird is upon him, snatching him up with iron talons. He screams and thrashes, but the other Careers make no move to help him. Soon, he is just a speck against the sapphire sky.

"What the hell?" the District 1 girl whispers furiously.

The other boy shrugs. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it, Anna?"

She glances around, and for a paralyzing second, Paloma thinks she's spotted her. But then she turns back to the boy. "Yeah, it makes it easier. Goodbye, Rhett, you weirdo."

"He's not dead yet," the boy points out. "Have you heard a cannon yet?" Paloma winces sympathetically, trying not to think of what must be happening.

Anna rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Let's get going."

OOOOOOOO

The Capitol girl idly flips on the Hunger Games. She doesn't really want to talk to her mom right now, not after the screaming argument they had last night. She sighs. All she wants is a pair of dragonfly wings. Dia Verity has a peacock tail for crying out loud. And dragonfly wings would look so gorgeous with her new violet hair. But no, her mom had to refuse for no good reason. Whatever. A good tribute death should brighten her mood.

And she's in luck. Flavia Flint prattles on about how the bird defeated by two tributes last night has a mate with hungry chicks. The Capitol girl watches raptly as the bird, daggers of sunlight glinting of its iron feathers, carries the frantic District 4 tribute. Aerial cameras pan over the arena, showing the myriad rows of gigantic stone slabs. The Capitol girl briefly wonders what all those slabs mean, then dismisses the thought as the bird arrives at her nest. It's a tangle of iron scraps and vines torn from the arena. And inside amid shards of metallic eggshells are three squalling chicks, sparkling in the daylight. Rhett screams, his desperate yell echoing around the arena. And then the bird drops the man among her chicks.

It takes a while. The girl begins to paint her nails, glancing up once in a while to see the onscreen carnage. She's just finishing up—lime green is so in—when the door opens.

"Daddy!" she says, surprised. "You're home early."

Her father smiles distractedly. "Yes, the president seems to have taken a turn for the worse. Let's hope he'll pull through." He glances at the screen. Two of the chicks are fighting over what looks like a leg.

"Hmm," the girl says. Politics bore her, but she knows this. Her father's not disappointed at all over the president's mysterious illness. After all, he's next in line.

OOOOOOOOO

Last night, when her stepfather was sleeping, Ptarmigan figured out that the vines make a pretty decent rope. She stashes them in her backpack, out of _his _reach. And then she watches her stepfather slowly stretch. Her mother always told her that he was such a handsome man. Ptarmigan had to admit that she too was dazzled. But that was five years ago, and she's learned not to be dazzled by any man since.

Her stepfather smirks when he sees her. "Good thing you didn't run off, girlie." Ptarmigan looks away. He's a very light sleeper, a painful lesson she learned when she tried to sneak out of the house one time. She never tried again. It was nerve-wracking enough trying to weave the vines together last night.

"Alright, let's get going. And if you try anything…" he warns, shaking his sword at her. "It won't be pretty. Do what you're told."

Ptarmigan bites back a few choice words. One day, she tells herself. One day. Her stepfather's last.

OOOOOOOO

It's hard eating food without a tongue. You have to gulp a certain way and hope you don't choke. But the Capitol, in its infinite mercy, decided they wouldn't give the Avoxes too much food to bother with. How kind, Lydia thinks bitterly.

Her tributes are gone, probably to their deaths, and she's left behind to eternal torment. Punishment for that day. She's from District 9, although no one's recognized her so far. That's okay by her, even when she had a tongue and a voice, no one bothered with her anyways.

And although she doesn't know it, and probably never will, these latest tributes, the brother and sister, are the most concrete link from her past life.

OOOOOOOOO

Anthem peeks at Patrick buried in the vines. "I don't know if this is going to work," she mutters.

"It will," he replies, gripping his sword. "Don't you hear them coming? Now be quiet and get in position."

Anthem grumbles, but shuffles back into the stone. The steady beat of footsteps builds into a crescendo. She looks at her brother, handsome and fierce, turned into a warrior by these games. She grips her knife.

The tributes turn the corner.

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Lucia Waltz, **District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham**

**Chelsea Hamilton, **District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton**

**Elena Larch, **District 7, and her father **Jack Larch**

**Mayva Perry, **District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill**

**Ash Collins, **District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins**

**The Survivors:**

**Anna Vireo, **District 1, and her father **Gavin Vireo**

**Seraphim Elysium, **District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium**

**Ptarmigan Elling, **District 5, and her stepfather **Nikolas Elling**

**Anthem Redpath, **District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath**

**Oriole Whittaker,** District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker**

**Wren, **District 11, and her brother **Helio**

**Ack, sorry the update took so long. Hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for your wonderful reviews thus far!**


	22. Moments

It's rather nerve-wracking spending your time on a six-foot wide piece of stone. Henry dances to the edge just to show off, while Wren muffles her shrieks of laughter. Helio paces out the length. 150 of his long strides. We peer over the edge and see tributes the size of ants scurrying around. I feel strangely distanced from it all. I don't have to make the decision of kill or be killed for a few precious days.

I describe our epic fight with the bird to Henry and Wren, acting out the parts of me, Helio, and the bird, while trying not to fall off the cliff. I slash and twirl with my staff—it seems like another limb now—and mimic Helio's powerful strikes. When I imitate the bird being electrocuted, Henry and Wren fall to the ground, convulsing with laughter.

I don't understand the arena, though. I've been staring at the endless rows of giant stone slabs, trying to piece the puzzle together. Surely there must be _some_ pattern. But I'm no genius, having just made passing marks in school. Helio stare off in the distance when he's not practicing his sword fighting, but I don't ask him if he's found something. After all, soon it's going to come down to eight.

"Oriole! Come here!" Henry's frantically waving me over. At first I think something's wrong with Wren, who's on her stomach, head over the edge, but as I jog towards them, I realize she's just looking over the edge.

"You little toad, you almost gave me a heart attack. You can't joke around like that in the Hunger Games. You could die," I tease. Henry rolls his eyes.

"Look," he insists. So I crouch down and peer over. Almost immediately, two cannons sound in rapid succession. _Boom. Boom. _A hovercraft swoops down, and I follow its path to where it collects two bodies. I can't tell who they are.

Henry's eyes are shining, and I slug him in the shoulder. "Two people just _died," _I snap.

"Two people who would probably kill us if they had the chance," he snaps back. "There was an ambush. And anyways, we're two steps closer to coming home."

I glance involuntarily at Wren's slender back as she peers over the edge. What if I pushed her over, right now? I quickly shake the thought from my brain. I can't kill sweet, funny Wren. Besides, Helio would kill Henry and me immediately.

I hate the Games, how they twist your mind. I'm not a killer, no matter how many times I've threatened Henry or Kestrel with dismemberment when they've messed with my stuff.

Deep breaths, Oriole. Soon you can fly away home.

OOOOOOOO

There's ten of us left. Ten. We'll stay up here until two more die, and then…I don't know. I try to plot strategy, but my mind keeps darting back to a battle between Helio and me. I can't beat him, he's stronger and more skilled. And then the face of my mentor Aimee pops into my head. Aimee, who smothered her allies in their sleep. But I can't. I won't. We made a promise, and I will not break it. Because I know Wren means as much to Helio as Henry means to me. We're siblings. In another time, another place, we could have been friends. Well, maybe not Helio. But I see Wren and Henry whispering together—and Henry's blushing—and I wish that their friendship could last more than a few days. Who knows when two more will die?

Helio goes down to collect some water, and Wren drifts to the other side of the cliff. So I scoot over to my brother.

"Henry?"

He grunts in response.

"We're going to be allies with Wren and Helio until the final eight." I watch horror cross his face as he realizes only two more deaths stand in the way.

"But…" His eyes dart over to Wren, who's lifted her chin to meet the breeze, dark hair streaming behind her.

"Sorry." The word float feebly between us.

"Then what's going to happen? Are you going to do like Aimee did?" he spits.

"No!" I say. "No, we're just going to split up, and hope we don't meet again."

"Hope they die, you mean." His hazel eyes are filled with rage.

"Henry, it's going to be them or us. It'll make it easier if we don't have to fight them. I don't want to do that."

His shoulder sag. He's just a kid. Hell, I'm just a kid. "How are we going to survive?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking about that. The arena, the stones, they have to mean _something._"

He shrugs, and I know the conversation is over.

OOOOOOOOO

I practice with my staff for the rest of the day, while Henry swings his dagger around, sparring with Wren. They're laughing far too much for their own good.

Dusk falls, Helio returns with more water, and we gather around to eat bread together. I wonder who died.

"Oriole?"

"Hmm?" Wren is looking up at me pleadingly.

"Can I braid your hair? You have such gorgeous hair. Sometimes it looks like it's on fire."

"It looks like rust to me," Henry pipes up, and I idly point my fingers in a gun in his direction.

"I guess you can," I say to Wren, "but I bet it's pretty tangled. Fights to the death will do that to you."

She smiles, scooches behind me, and runs her fingers through my hair. Helio glares at me, but I ignore him.

The Capitol anthem starts playing, signaling the end of the third day. These Games are sure going by fast. Time flies when you're having fun, I guess.

And then the faces in the sky.

Rhett Hamilton, of District 4. I guess it was his cannon we heard last night.

And then two Careers. Wren gasps, and Henry smirks.

Anna, the narcissistic blonde from 1, whose father is a victor, sneers at us mortals down below, and Sartorius from 2 scowls at our pitiful attempts to survive.

Careers. Damn.

"Who killed them?" I ask.

Wren shrugs. "We couldn't tell."

Helio grunts, swinging his arms at his sides. How awful it must be, I think, to be free from the Games at age 20, and then be called back in with your sister. I guess if they survive though, they'll be free from the Games forever. Then again, we all will, in one way or another.

I just want to go home.


	23. Avenged

His baby girl, in the stars.

Gavin shakes with rage, screaming at the sky. "Anna!" he howls. She's not there, her picture is already fading. "Anna," he chokes.

Before he knows what he is doing, Gavin swings the sword around, memories of his own victory twenty years ago ingrained in the movement. It lands on the exposed white neck of Seraphim. Swoosh goes the blade and off goes her head.

Gavin doesn't need allies anymore.

OOOOOOOOO

Another cannon. Paloma whimpers, and Rafael slides his arm around his granddaughter. He wonders how long his old bones will last. Long enough to get them home?

OOOOOOOOO

Lacey Trylle snuggles in her bed in District 9, the quilt her mother made her pulled over her. She is dreaming of the freckle-faced boy in the arena, Henry Whittaker, who kissed her behind the schoolhouse. In her dream, they are safe, in their own cocoon, together, golden sunlight washing over them, birds singing, and they are just laughing and talking.

Her mother pauses in the doorway, watching her daughter's dark hair spilling over her pillow. She is still mourning for her own son, who died eight years ago, another casualty of the Games, but the fact that Lacey likes Henry hasn't escaped her. She turns away, easing the door shut behind her, hoping against hope that Lacey can have her happy ending.

OOOOOOOOOO

Aimee Lydico slumps in the mentor's room, watching the faces of her tributes on the screen. Oriole and Henry. The faces of the tributes she killed—her _allies—_swim into focus. Elia, from 12, with ragged black hair and a perpetual smirk on her face, and Dover, from 7, who was always twitching nervously but could create tiny animals out of twigs. And she smothered them, watched as their chests stopped rising and falling, hoping to spare them from a grisly death at the hand of a Career.

Aimee presses her lips together and tosses her frosted blonde hair over her shoulder. It's late at night and she's deathly tired, but she needs to make sure her tributes win. She failed last year, but maybe, just maybe, bringing two tributes out alive will atone for the deaths of her allies.

Maybe.

She hopes.

OOOOOOOO

And just like that, there is only one Career left. Flavia Flint, the announcer, shakes her head, and purses her plum-colored lips. They'll have to replay this tomorrow. But for now, she's got a party and plans to lose herself in the chaos of alcohol, morphling, and handsome men. Time to go.

OOOOOOOO

The boom of the cannon rattles around the arena. Ptarmigan presses her lips together and shoots a glance at the sleeping body of her stepfather. Still asleep then. Good. He never expected her to fight back now, never expected repayment for the beatings and her shrieks that fell upon stony ears.

She grips the length of vine she wove into rope in her hands. The phantom bruises on her body begin to throb. Very carefully, she kneels down and ties his wrists together. These fists will never hurt her again. Next, the ankles. Her stepfather grunts in his sleep as she nudges aside a shoe. Ptarmigan freezes, terror crawling under her skin. But then the snores start up again, and she completes her knot.

Done. Ptarmigan smirks at the sight of her stepfather trussed up like a dead chicken. She pulls out the knife she kept hidden in her boot and presses it to his throat. The touch of cold metal wakes him up immediately.

"What the hell?" he yells hoarsely.

Ptarmigan feels a rush of power course through her body. No longer is she a helpless District 5 girl. She is the ruthless predator of the night.

"Don't move," she whispers. "And don't talk. You thought I'd never fight back, did you? But these are the Games, and there are no rules. Now, I've thought long and hard about the best way to kill you. Do I just leave you here for the mutts and other tributes to rip you to shreds and watch you wet yourself in terror? No, I think I'd rather kill you myself."

"You've gone mad, you bitch," her stepfather spits, wriggling in his bonds. "Let me go!"

"Shut up," Ptarmigan snaps. "Are you sorry? Sorry you married my mother, and God knows what you've done to her? Or are you finally sorry for all the times you beat me, because you never liked your wife's daughter, and there was no one to stop you from hurting me?"

He doesn't answer, just glares at her with burning eyes.

"Several times," Ptarmigan says slowly, teasing out the words, "your beatings almost killed me. I have scars on my back from your belt. And now, you face all of Panem, and they're watching you now. Anything to say to your country?"

He hisses out a garbled strand of curses.

"Thought so," she says. "Now say good-bye."

He screams as her knife comes down, tracing a thin line across his throat, and deeper, jagged cuts across his wrists.

"I think I'll let you bleed to death," Ptarmigan says. "And I want you to look at me, and I want you to regret every time you hit me and know there is absolutely nothing you can do to save yourself, you bastard."

Her stepfather yells in agony, choking on the blood in his throat. Ptarmigan watches as the life seeps out from the man who made her life hell. Every second feels like redemption for her. She is drunk on her newfound power of vengeance.

An eternity later, the last drop of life drips out from Nikolas Elling. His head droops down. A cannon blasts, reverberating in Ptarmigan's bones. Ptarmigan creeps away, watching the hovercraft swoop over the blood-drenched earth and take the withered husk of her stepfather's body away.

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Anna Vireo, **age 17, District 1

**Seraphim Elysium, **age 15,District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium, **age 15

**Lucia Waltz, **age 13,District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham, **age 13

**Chelsea Hamilton, **age 16,District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton, **age 35

**Nikolas Elling, **age 46, District 5, Ptarmigan's stepfather

**Elena Larch, **age 14,District 7, and her father **Jack Larch, **age 50

**Mayva Perry, **age 18,District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill, **age 18

**Ash Collins, **age 15,District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins, **age 12

**The Survivors:**

Anna's father **Gavin Vireo, **age 38, District 1

**Ptarmigan Elling, **age 15,District 5

**Anthem Redpath, **age 18,District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath, **age 19

**Oriole Whittaker, **age 16, District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker, **age 14

**Paloma Ortega, **age 12, and her grandfather, **Rafael Ortega, **age 68

**Wren, **age 14,District 11, and her brother **Helio, **age 20


	24. Feathers

The Gamemakers are just so damn kind. So considerate. After all, they must feel sorry for us, stuck up here on this giant slab of rock 200 feet high, 300 feet long, and six feet wide until two others meet their untimely ends. So, since they are just _so damn kind, _they send us some presents.

It starts when the sun is shining brightly in the highest part of the sky, looking like one of those lemon-flavored candies my dad would always buy me when I was little. Henry hated them because they were too sour, but I loved them.

Helio is teaching Wren how to throw a knife, his large brown hands wrapped around her smaller ones. Henry is swinging his sword around, trying to show off. I'm scanning the ground below, trying to make out humanoid shapes in the shadowy spaces between the jungle of giant stone slabs.

Then a shadow sweeps over us as a dark shape blocks out the sun. Wren shrieks, and Helio moves in front of his sister. A bird. Just like the one Helio and I killed to claim this rocky haven. It's got a mate. And more than that.

Chicks. All of them bristling with metal feathers, black eyes smoking. The winged mechanical demons.

"Watch out," I say to Henry. "They spit acid."

He nods, the freckles stark on his pale face. Helio grips his sword, and Wren, shaking, readies her knife. Henry and I silently bump our fists. We're ready.

The five chicks fan out behind their parent, eclipsing the sun. I suck in a deep breath. I did this once. I can do this again.

The parent attacks, swooping down towards Helio, its mouth crowded with shards of teeth. The chicks shriek, an ear-splitting cry, and swarm down towards Henry and me. I swing my staff as hard as I can, catching one on the side of its head. It spirals down towards the ground, shooting sparks like a falling star.

No time to think. I swing again at another chick, but this one's smarter than its sibling. It dives out of the way, spitting acid that catches me on my cheek. Pain scorches through me.

Henry is trying his best, but his dagger isn't long enough to reach the birds that circle over his head, taunting him. His eyes are narrowed as he dodges the acid they spew at him.

My staff arches over my head, clipping one chick in its metallic wing. It shrieks as it begins to drop. Henry dives toward it and smashes its skull with a powerful blow. I turn my attention to the other three chicks. Suddenly, they flock together in an arrowhead formation and streak towards us. I grip my staff, swearing under my breath.

As they come, I drop to the ground and at the same time launch a powerful kick. It connects with a silver belly, and pain sears my leg. Henry leaps towards the stunned bird and slashes at it with his dagger. I hear the terrible screech of metal on metal as the two other birds dive towards me, pecking and screaming. I raise my staff to protect myself as their tiny beaks shred my arms. Terror crashes over me. _I can't die, not like this. I can't. I won't._

I thrash around, trying to land a blow on the chicks. I hope Henry's okay, but I can't see him. All I can see is a swirl of silver feathers as I fight for my life. They are too fast. I swing my staff as fast as I can, but they dart away, mocking me. I scream in frustration. They won't kill me. They can't. I have to win. _I have to win._

I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain from their razor-sharp claws and the acid burns, and swing my staff, the motion so familiar from all these years of swinging my scythe in the wheat fields back at home in District 9. I manage to hit one bird just above its eye. It falters midair. The other one streaks toward my face, claws out. I whip my staff up just in time, and its talons sink in to the wood. It's stuck. I grin, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

It realizes its predicament, and flaps its wings trying to free itself. Not a chance. I smash my staff down, hard, on the rock. There's a shower of sparks, and then all that's left of the demonic little bird is a smoking pile of metal at my feet.

Its sibling caws at me, seeming to have recovered from my blow. I sneak a quick glance at my brother, who's still dueling with his own bird. No time to see how Helio and Wren are faring against the parent. But there have been no cannons. I hold on desperately to that fact as the bird comes scorching at me.

I miss my swing, and the bird clips me on the side of my head with one razor sharp wing. Suddenly, there's an awful crash, and the sky splits open, dumping its contents down. Rain slides over the stone, making it as slick as ice. The bird shakes the rain from its feathers and caws in defiance.

I swing again, but miss as I lose my balance on the stone. It's just like last time, except this time there's no lightning. We can't hope for a lucky strike.

Blood and rain are dripping down into my eyes. My vision is blurred with pain. _Keep fighting, Oriole. _I ready myself for the next attack. It spits. I dive out of the way and slip, falling hard on the stone. Pain crashes through my battered body. The infernal bird crows in delight. I fumble desperately, trying to get up, but my knee is throbbing from when I kicked a bird. A silver streak shoots down towards me. I scrabble for my staff, but I'm not going to be able to get it up in time.

I guess this is it.

Huh.

And then, there's the terrible clang of metal on metal, as the chick crumples from the sky. My brother stands over the fallen body, brandishing his dagger like a club.

"Henry," I say in shock.

He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "Not bad, huh?"

"I killed three," I tell him as he pulls me up. "You only killed two."

He kicks the body of the chick over the edge. He's bleeding, the red soaking through his shirt. Suddenly, my brother seems so fragile, his hair matted down by the rain, his clothes sticking to his body.

Can we really make it?

I square my shoulders. "Come on. We have to help Helio and Wren."

Henry trots, as fast as he can on this treacherous stone, over to where Helio and Wren are engaged in their own desperate badly. The parent is far wilier and swifter than its chicks. Wren is crumpled on the ground, clutching her wrist, as Helio stands over her, fending the bird off.

I hurry over, ignoring the protests of my body. Henry is dancing out of reach from the bird's talons as Helio swings ferociously at the bird.

It is unnaturally fast, faster than its mate. But then I realize something. Just like its mate, it's rusting in the rain.

"It's rusting!" I scream. "Rusting! It will have to fall apart eventually."

Helio nods at me, clearly remembering last time. I lash out with my staff as the bird lunges towards me, managing to connect with its neck. Flecks of rust float down. With a savage cry, Helio slams the flat of his sword against its head. Its skull, weakened by rust, caves in. It croaks, once, and Helio smashes its chest, and then it crumbles to bits of metal and rust.

Henry moves to kick it over the edge, but I stop him. "Maybe we can salvage some of the feathers. They're sharp. They could come in handy." I look towards Helio for agreement, but he's hunched over his sister, who, thank goodness, is sitting up.

We strip the feathers from the mutt and kick the metal skeleton over the edge. I wrap the feathers in the waterproof material from our packs and dig out the medicine kit.

And then, we hear the bang of a cannon.


	25. Shattered

The terror of the Games is beginning to sink in for Paloma. She is twelve years old. She is not meant to be fighting for her life here. She wants to go home to District 10, curl up by the fire with her little brother, while Mamá brushes her silky black hair.

Her grandfather strokes her head while he stares off in the distance, worry carved into his leathery face. He is tanned and wrinkled from all these years of herding cattle in the brutal sun. Paloma wonders what he is thinking about. Survival? At the Bloodbath, they both sprinted from the Cornucopia as fast as their legs could carry them. They stick close to the waterfall and manage to scrounge berries from the vines. Eventually, Paloma knows, they can't keep this up. It is the fourth day, and already, the hunger is gnawing a hole in her side. She is used to hunger, being from a poor family, but this isn't hunger. It's starvation.

Something crashes in the arena, and her grandfather jerks his head like a startle hare. "Let's go, Palomita," he whispers. She slides her small hand into his big wrinkled palm.

Then two figures appear in the alley between two stone slabs.

"Run, Palomita!" Grandpapa calls, twirling his lasso in his hands.

"Grandpapa, no!" she screams as the figures advance. Her terrified mind can't identify the tributes.

Her grandfather pushes her back. "Fly, Palomita. Fly away home."

They will kill her. So she runs, skittering down the aisles, praying to Jesús that Grandpapa will somehow survive and find her.

The cannon booms, rattling in her bones. It might not be Grandpapa, she tells herself. But she knows it is. She can feel the emptiness inside. He was the person she trusted the most. After her father died, he was there for her. He's not here anymore.

_It's just me left, _she tells herself. _It's just me, and now I have to survive._

OOOOOOOOOOO

Anthem retches into the vines as her brother turns away from the old man's body. He put up quite a fight, for a man that age. But there's only so much a lasso can do against a spear and a knife.

She pushes her brown hair back from her sweaty face, trying to tell herself that the Careers—or what's left of them anyways—would have made him suffer. And he had to die. He had to die, so she and Patrick could go back home, back to District 6, and their mother drowning in alcohol, and their own shattered relationship.

"Let's go," Patrick tells her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. It's at this moment that she hates her brother more than anything. It was his idea to go on the offensive, and his idea to keep going when they saw the District 10 tributes. Anthem pleaded with him to find someone else to kill, just not the little girl and her grandfather. But he kept going.

Ambushing the Careers was one thing. They were highly trained. They _knew _what they were doing and knew what they were getting into. They put up a bit of a fight, but Anthem and Patrick had the element of surprise. She didn't even feel too guilty afterwards.

But now…

Anthem straightens up, and forces herself to smile at her brother. When she shook hands with him after they'd been Reaped, it was the first time they'd talked in over a year.

"Right," she says, her voice artificially sweet. "Let's go."

OOOOOOOOOOO

The shadows of the stone slabs stretch over the arena as the sun sets, draping the arena in darkness. Ptarmigan stretches, loosening the sore muscles in her back.

Ptarmigan Elling is now a killer.

This is what she'd dreamed of for years, plans of vengeance formed after brutal beatings. She'd killed her stepfather and walked through grass saturated with his blood.

She is a killer.

She likes that, whispers the words to herself as she peers around a stone. She is a killer, and it's the killers that win the Games.

She's going to kill again. A cannon just went off, and she wonders who that could be. Probably one of the ones from District 10. She's amazed they made it this far.

Well, she's going to make another cannon go off. She decides to target Gavin Vireo. He's not going to be expecting an attack. He believes he's invulnerable, ensconced in the Cornucopia and protected by his fearsome status as a victor.

She slings her knives on her back and pulls her raven hair into a bun. She is a killer. And she will be a victor.

OOOOOOOOOO

He's going to kill him. Peel the skin from their bones, feed their guts to the crows, splinter every bone in their body. They killed his Anna, his baby girl. They murdered her, and he's going to _destroy _them.

Gavin stares into the night with burning eyes, hunched over in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Anna was too good to die. He'd trained her himself, dammit. Now he's all that's left of the Career pack.

"I'll avenge you, Anna," he whispers hoarsely. "I'll win for you, but you should be there with me."

"No, I don't think that's how it's going to work," a voice says silkily. Gavin Vireo only has time to look up and fumble for his sword before a tiny figure drops down from the roof of the Cornucopia and slits his throat.

His body drops to the floor of the Cornucopia like a puppet whose strings have been cut, sightless eyes fixed on the stars. As his cannon blasts, his killer wipes his blood off her hands.

OOOOOOOOO

The anthem plays, the tune winding through the arena.

Paloma sees the face of her grandfather smiling down at her from the stars.

Ptarmigan locks eyes with the face of her victim in the sky.

Anthem presses her hand over her mouth to force her nausea and guilt down.

OOOOOOO

Two cannons that night. Helio pulls himself upright. Eight left, and the alliance is broken. He pauses before rousing her sister, wanting to preserve her blissful innocence for as long as possible. Wren is happy here, with Oriole and Henry, but only one district can win. And that means that these two must die if his baby sister is to live.

Helio shoulders his backpack with their share of the supplies and bends over the slender body of his sister.

"Wren?" he whispers, the soft sound at odds with his massive body. "Wren, we have to go."

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Anna Vireo, **age 17, District 1 and her father **Gavin Vireo, **age 38

**Seraphim Elysium, **age 15,District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium, **age 15

**Lucia Waltz, **age 13,District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham, **age 13

**Chelsea Hamilton, **age 16,District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton, **age 35

**Nikolas Elling, **age 46, District 5, Ptarmigan's stepfather

**Elena Larch, **age 14,District 7, and her father **Jack Larch, **age 50

**Mayva Perry, **age 18,District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill, **age 18

**Rafael Ortega, **age 60, District 10, Paloma's grandfather

**Ash Collins, **age 15,District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins, **age 12

**The Survivors:**

**Ptarmigan Elling, **age 15,District 5

**Anthem Redpath, **age 18,District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath, **age 19

**Oriole Whittaker, **age 16, District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker, **age 14

**Paloma Ortega, **age 12, District 10

**Wren, **age 14,District 11, and her brother **Helio, **age 20


	26. Gifts

"Oriole? Oriole! Wake up!"

I jolt awake. "Henry? What the hell?" My eyes skitter over the rock to my brother's panicked face.

"They're gone," he whispers. "What happened?"

I groan, running my fingers through my hair in a futile effort to smooth out the tangles. "Henry, I told you the alliance would end when there were five left."

His face tightens as he counts on his fingers. "You, me, them, that girl from Five, the tiny girl from Ten, and who else?"

"Anthem and Patrick from Six," I say, remembering how they refused to join our alliance.

"No Careers," Henry muses. "Is this the first time ever that no Careers have made it to the top eight."

"Could be," I say. How freaking historic. But I guess it makes sense. This is an unofficial Quell after all. Guess the 38th Hunger Games are going down in history.

"I can't believe they just left without saying good-bye," Henry says, fiddling with his dagger.

I sigh. "It's for the best. Let's just hope we never see them again." I know I can't beat Helio, and there's no way I could hurt Wren.

"What now?" he asks.

I don't know.

I realize I'm the leader now. I take a deep breath. It's not that different from the good old days, when I would lead Henry and Kestrel into all kinds of trouble. Of course, it's a bit different now, when there're six other kids who would be happy to kill us.

Henry's still looking at me. If we stay up here, Helio is going to know exactly where to find us. Yet it's relatively safe up here, as long as the homicidal demon birds stay away. I stare over the endless rows of stone. They are only about six feet apart. A wild thought forms in my brain.

"Let's go exploring!"

Henry straightens up, alarmed. "You've cracked. You've finally cracked."

"Shut up, Henry. I've got an idea."

"Your ideas usually lead to big trouble."

"It's the Hunger Games, smart one. I think we're already in big trouble."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"Shut up already." I walk over to the edge and lean down. It's a long way down, and the ground seems to swirl beneath me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Deep breaths. I can do this.

Carefully, I pry lengths of vine off the stone, pulling them up into a pile. Henry watches with increasingly alarmed expressions.

"You're crazy! I'm not doing this! I'm way too young to die!"

We all are, I want to say, but I bite the words back and pull myself up.

"These vines are strong," I inform him.

He shakes his head, jerking backwards. "Oh, no. Please tell me we're not going to swing on these vines like some crazed jungle savages."

"You'll be the only crazed savage." I twist the vines together and tug on them. Strong enough, but… I realize that there are no convenient outcroppings to loop the vines around.

"What we need," I say deliberately, staring at the sky, "is a board. C'mon, people. Fork over the money. We're just two innocent kids." I sling my arm around Henry. "Pout," I tell him.

He glares at me, then turns up to the sky and waves, making his brown eyes as big as possible.

"Aimee….Lucas," I say pleadingly.

Lucas. My mentor. I wonder if I'll see him again. The Games have not quite blasted him from my memories. I still can recall the way he laughed, the night before the Games.

On a sudden impulse, I blow a kiss to the sky. Henry shoots a startled glance at me, but I keep beaming at the clouds.

And then, a parachute sails down, dragged down by the long wooden board tied to it.

"Yes!" I pump my fist.

Henry scrambles to untie it, and I bend over to examine it. Sturdy, probably oak, and long enough to span the distance between the stones.

"Thanks, guys!" I wave cheerily in the air.

"Oriole?" Henry says, his voice strangled.

"What?" I say impatiently.

"There's a note for you." He hesitantly passes me a crumpled piece of paper, and I snatch it out of his hands.

_Oriole,_

_I hope to see you soon. Try not to get killed._

_Lucas_

And on the other side, he's drawn a picture of an oriole flying in the sky. He's a pretty damn good artist, actually. Way better than my stick figures.

Henry is staring at me.

"You're turning red," he observes.

"Shut up," I tell him. "We've got a game to win."


	27. Promised

When Henry wakes up, he sees the wide expanse of sky and the vast emptiness all around him.

They're gone.

He pulls his legs to his chest and rocks back and forth.

Gone.

Without saying goodbye.

Just like his father. He and Oriole woke up, it was just like every other day, they came tumbling down the stairs, quibbling as usual, and then their mother was slumped at the table because he had left in the middle of the night, no note, just emptiness.

OOOOOOOOO

The stones tower above her, their shadows smothering her. She wraps her arms around herself and sways back and forth.

How can she go on without Grandpapa? Grandpapa, whose eyes crinkled when he laughed, who whispered stories to her at bedtime, who always slipped her the tastiest cuts of meat, who was still strong enough to swing her up in his arms.

Paloma takes a deep breath and moves forward. She is twelve years old and knows she cannot survive the Games all by herself. She needs allies. It is a bit late for an alliance, but she has an idea.

Steeling herself, she begins to climb one of the stones.

OOOOOOOOO

"Aimee…Lucas," the District 9 girl says.

Lucas jerks his head up and rushes over to the screen. There's Oriole, and next to her is Henry, a bit confused.

"Lucas," sighs Aimee.

"No," Lucas snaps, his gaze fixed on the screen. "Don't you get it? We can save them both this year! We can do it!"

Aimee bites her lip. He knows that she's thinking that she saw countless tributes die while this is only Lucas' second year as a mentor since winning at sixteen. Lucas doesn't care.

"C'mon," he says. "Can you refuse that face?" He motions to Henry, pouting, trying to scrunch down to make himself smaller.

Aimee rolls her eyes. "You like her, don't you, Lucas?"

He scratches at his collar, well aware that his face is turning an unattractive shade of red.

"Don't you?" he asks. "I'm sure she likes me, who couldn't?"

"She's a bit obnoxious," Aimee says absently. "As are you. But Lucas, you have to keep in mind that she could die. They both could."

"Final eight, Aimee. That's pretty big."

"It doesn't matter if you're second or twenty-fourth. You're still dead," Aimee shoots back.

"It's just a board," Lucas wheedles. "One little board."

Aimee tallies up the money. "Well, apparently Aurelia was impressed with your flirting last night, 'cause we have enough money."

Lucas grins, feeling some concern washed away.

"Let's send it." And then he remembers a drawing tucked in his pocket. He pulls it out, scribbles a note on the back, and slips it in the package, ignoring Aimee's raised eyebrows.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Patrick feels his sister's gaze boring into his back. She's eighteen, one year younger than he is, and when they were younger, they were sometimes mistaken for twins.

But they are most definitely not twins. After The Incident, as he likes to think of it—it makes it sound so much simpler than having a huge fight over his alcohol use and then his sister sleeping with his best friend for revenge and breaking the poor guy's heart—they stopped speaking until the Reaping. He still doesn't like Anthem that much. And now she's furious about the old man's death. Which is ridiculous. He was going to die eventually. It was a mercy killing. But no matter how many times he says this to his sister, or to himself, he can still remember the old man's steely gaze as he faced down the teenagers, or the grim resolution with which he met his death.

"So, who are we going to kill next?" Anthem asks. Patrick sighs.

"The Careers are dead. No one else is much of a threat."

He can see the gears turning in his sister's head as she runs through the districts.

"What about that big guy from Eleven?"

Patrick pales. He was grateful when Gavin's face turned up in the sky so he wouldn't have to kill the previous victor. But Helio—he isn't sure if he can do that. Patrick has never held a sword since these Games. And he's from Six—he works at a factory that makes the Peacekeepers' carts. He's never done the manual labor that Helio is accustomed to.

"Well?" Anthem demands, tossing her dark hair. She really is annoying.

Patrick grits his teeth. They've got to win somehow. "Fine," he says. "Another ambush. We'll scout him out. Let's go."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Lacey Trylle watches the first boy she ever kissed on her television screen. Henry Whittaker. Her parents whisper behind closed doors, wondering why their daughter is barely eating. She's not going to tell them.

But she watches as Henry's heart breaks when he finds his allies missing, watches as he jokes around with his sister, watches him plead for a sponsor present, watches him dare Oriole to go across on the board. Watches as it actually works. And prays that he will come home.

Because if he does, she won't ask him about what happened. She'll just be there, like she always has. Maybe, this time, he'll notice her for more than two seconds.

But if he doesn't, that's okay. Just as long as he comes home.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ptarmigan watches as the tributes from District 6 dart through the rows of stone. She wonders where they're going.

No matter. She'll find them soon enough and kill them. Watch their blood run through her fingers. And she'll win. _I. Will. Win._

OOOOOOOOOOO

Lucas reminds himself that she could still die, but it's useless. He wishes for that night on the balcony, their easy joking and laughing. No matter how much he tries to hide it from Aimee, his co-mentor can easily tell.

The cameras are focused on the District 6 tributes, not Oriole. His skin itches. This is the worst kind of torture. He wants to punch through the screen, find his tributes, and keep them safe for good. Last year, they died on the first day. This year, they have to win. The stakes have never been higher.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Harvard Whittaker left District 9 seven years ago. He got out of bed, slipped a coat on, grabbed a knapsack, and kissed his wife's forehead. He paused at the door to his children's room before leaving the tiny house at the edge of the fields.

His children will never know why he left. All they will know is a sense of abandonment. But Harvard Whittaker left because he had to be free. He had to fly. He followed the murmurings of a second rebellion, traced them across Panem to the underground district, the one that rose from the ashes like a phoenix.

There, he works, fighting to free his children. He does not know they are in the Games. But he works furiously, trying to tear down the Capitol, as best he can. Sometimes it's by making weapons, using his clever mind and quick fingers. Occasionally, he advises the rebel leaders on strategy. He thinks about them, his little birds, now fledglings leaving the nest, every day.

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Anna Vireo, **age 17, District 1 and her father **Gavin Vireo, **age 38

**Seraphim Elysium, **age 15,District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium, **age 15

**Lucia Waltz, **age 13,District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham, **age 13

**Chelsea Hamilton, **age 16,District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton, **age 35

**Nikolas Elling, **age 46, District 5, Ptarmigan's stepfather

**Elena Larch, **age 14,District 7, and her father **Jack Larch, **age 50

**Mayva Perry, **age 18,District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill, **age 18

**Rafael Ortega, **age 60, District 10, Paloma's grandfather

**Ash Collins, **age 15,District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins, **age 12

**The Survivors:**

**Ptarmigan Elling, **age 15,District 5

**Anthem Redpath, **age 18,District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath, **age 19

**Oriole Whittaker, **age 16, District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker, **age 14

**Paloma Ortega, **age 12, District 10

**Wren, **age 14,District 11, and her brother **Helio, **age 20

**Sorry nothing too exciting happens in this update. Next time will be more exciting, I promise!**


	28. Mercies

Someone's coming up. I can hear their labored breaths, the occasional high-pitched "Ooof!", the scratching sound of the vines rubbing against the stone.

Who is it?

I run through the tributes in my head. Helio and Wren aren't going to try to kill us, Anthem and Patrick, possibly, Ptarmigan, definitely, Paloma, probably not.

"Do you hear that?" Henry asks. He nervously picks up the board. It's worked pretty well for us, though the first time was nerve-wracking, the way it wobbled. Henry laughed at me as I skittered across on my butt, but he wasn't that cocky when it was his turn. But we've made steady progress across the arena. I'm beginning to understand the shape of the stones. They're arranged in rows that are all connected. Like a line of dominos, really. If you knock one over, the rest will come tumbling down.

"Yeah, I hear that." I reach for my staff that's swung over my shoulder. Better just face it directly.

"Get behind me," I instruct. And I peer over the edge.

It's Paloma.

She's about a yard from the top, her fingers knotted in the vines. Her eyes widen when she sees me staring at her.

"Guess you better come on up," I say, trying to be as casual as possible, reaching down my hand.

"Who is it?" Henry whispers, trying to crane his neck for a better look.

"Shut up," I whisper back.

"Shut up? I can't remember any tribute named Shut Up."

I roll my eyes and hoist Paloma up. She barely weighs anything.

Henry stumbles back. "What are you doing here?"

Paloma's eyes dart nervously between us. "I-I need help. Please. They killed Grandpapa, and I'm running out of food."

"Well, you can't have any of our food," Henry says rudely.

"Shut _up, _Henry!"

I turn back to Paloma. She's so tiny. Her collarbones jut out, and her knees are knobby.

"You need food?"

She nods eagerly.

"What are you doing?" Henry hisses.

"One second," I say, holding up a finger. "Henry, _come here."_

I drag him away down the stone.

"Oriole, this is insane. There's eight of us left. Eight. What, are we going to do like Aimee did? Huh?"

I want to slap him. "Henry, she's twelve years old. And starving."

He sticks his chin out, brown eyes blazing. "So we give her some food and send her on her merry way so she can be gutted by some other tribute or a muttation?

"Are you proposing we kill her?"

"No!" he says defensively. "But I thought it was too late for allies. Because Helio and Wren left…" His voice trails off. Poor kid. But that's life, and these are the Games, and friendships get torn apart by muttations.

"How about this: We give her food for information, and she can stay one night. And we _don't _kill her. After that, we can go our separate directions." I keep my gaze firm, but inside, my heart is being torn to pieces. She's twelve. _Twelve. _What am I doing?

But it's her or Henry, and I have to pick Henry.

We walk back over to Paloma. I keep my chin up.

"Alright. We've decided that we'll give you some food and you can stay with us for one night. And in return, we'd like some information. Okay?"

She nods, her head bobbling on her tiny neck like a baby bird. I fish in the packs and pull out some stale bread. She gobbles it up. How long has it been since she last ate?

"Okay," I say determinedly. "First question. How did you survive so long?"

She looks at me blankly.

"I mean, how did you make it to the final eight? District 10's always an underdog, and you're just twelve."

Paloma sucks in a breath. "We hid," she says softly. "We ran from the Cornucopia without getting any supplies. And then we found some water, and whenever we heard anything, we hid in the vines."

"So…" I say, not wanting to ask my next question. I have to, though. "Then how did your grandfather die?"

Her dark brown eyes lower and well with tears. "W-we were a-ambushed," she sniffles. "And then he told me to run, so I ran."

"Who ambushed you?" I say steadily.

She wipes her eyes. "The ones from Six."

Anthem and Patrick. Brother and sister, just like we are. Though they never seemed to like each other. I never would have pegged them for targeting the weakest tributes, though. But you can never tell, can you?

"How were they armed?"

She blinks her huge brown eyes, trying to remember. "A spear and a knife, I think. It was all so fast."

"And where was it?"

Paloma peers over the arena. "Towards the west, I think. There's a waterfall there. Oh, it's right there." She points, and I follow her small brown hand. I can just make out the faintest glimmer of a waterfall.

"Thank you," I say.

Paloma glances between me and Henry, slouched over with his arms crossed. "Wh-where are you going?"

"Dunno," Henry grunts, scuffing the ground with his shoe.

"We're trying to find the pattern of the arena. And where the row of stones start," I explain. "So we're heading east."

She nods. "Let's go," I say abruptly. It's best to keep going. So we travel the rest of the day, traveling across the long winding row of stones. Paloma is surprisingly good at traveling, stepping gracefully across the dizzying gaps. We don't talk much. Henry is clearly still mad at me, and Paloma's too shy. And then there's the three cannons, bang bang bang, and no one wants to discuss those.

At night, we hunker down and eat dinner. And then comes the anthem and the faces in the sky.

"No," I whisper, pressing my hand over my mouth. "No! It's not fair!"

But these are the Games. Nothing is fair.


	29. Savaged

Flavia Flint smoothes down her magenta hair in preparation for the interviews. She beams in Rufus' direction. "Isn't this just so _exciting?"_

Rufus nods, his face pale. Flavia has no sympathy for him. If the man has stage fright, why on earth does he do the interviews?

A bedraggled aide rushes in the room. "It appears that there's been a…mishap," he gasps.

"What is it now, Tertius?" Flavia snaps, pursing her lips in the mirror.

Tertius wrings his hands. "Five's mother—she's dead. No family to interview now."

"Dead?" Rufus squeaks.

"Suicide," Tertius says solemnly. "Poor woman couldn't take it any longer."

Flavia grimaces. What a nuisance. Still, there will be four families to interview. "Alright," she says briskly. "Let's get a move on."

OOOOOOOOOO

The interviews are a disaster. Ptarmigan's mother hanged herself, the mother of the two from Six is clearly drunk, the mother of the ones from Nine is as quiet as a mouse, and then, for some reason, the neighbors are there, too, the mother of the girl from Ten mutters insults in Spanish while her little brother makes faces at the cameras, and the father and grandmother of the ones from Eleven won't even look at the cameras.

And then there's the announcement, once the segment is over.

"Citizens of Panem, we regret to inform you of your beloved President's passing during these Games. Please greet your new leader, who will guide the nation through this sad time, President Coriolanus Snow. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor."

OOOOOOOOOOO

The president's dead, Oriole and Henry are in the Games, and he had to appear on live TV in front of the entire nation. Kestrel groans. Eight. They are in the final eight. And the Capitol has its one dark mercy, so they can both make it home.

He tries to comfort Mrs. Whittaker, but he isn't sure how. She is barely talking anymore, just staring into space. It breaks his heart to see her like this. She was almost his own mother. And Oriole and Henry were almost his siblings, but not enough to place him in the Games.

Five days have passed in the Games. They have been the worst days in Kestrel's life. And he's watched Oriole and Henry change, especially when they argued over Paloma's fate earlier that day. The Henry he knew would never suggest abandoning a twelve-year-old girl. His childhood playmates, his neighbors, his best friends, his siblings—they're never coming home.

OOOOOOOO

Ptarmigan pricks her finger on her knife. A tiny bead of blood shimmers on her fingertip. Good—the blade's still sharp. She bounces on the balls of her feet. It's the twilight of the fifth day, and she is focused, burning. Her ears are pricked like a wolf's. She can just make out the gibbous moon from behind the dancing silver clouds. This is her time to hunt.

She weaves around the labyrinth of stones, alert for any sound of tributes. And then she hears voices drifting among the stones.

"Can't we stop for the night?"

A deeper voice. "No, we have to keep going. Just a little longer, then we'll climb up and sleep."

A pause. Ptarmigan holds her breath. "I miss them."

Silence.

Then Ptarmigan eases around a stone to see two silhouettes in the moonlight.

"What's that?" A girl's voice, high-pitched with fear.

"Shhh…"

Ptarmigan springs out, hurling her knife in one fluid motion. The larger figure springs out of the way, and the knife clatters against the stone.

"Run, Wren! UP!"

The smaller figure scuttles spider-like up the stone. Ptarmigan draws another knife.

"That your sister?" she asks, a grotesque smile pulling up her lips.

The man doesn't answer. He just draws his sword, the blade winking in the moonlight.

Ptarmigan sizes him up in a heartbeat. Bigger than she is—most people are, though. Like her stepfather, may he burn in hell. Before the man can react, she sends a knife singing through the air. The man twists aside, and it lodges in his shoulder. He grunts in agony, and Ptarmigan races up the stone.

OOOOOOOOOO

Helio pulls the knife from his shoulder with a roar. Fear for his sister has turned him savage. The girl from Five is already half-way up the stone.

"Wren!" he cries. Without thinking, he hurls himself at the stone. It scrapes his knuckles, but he ignores the pain, clawing his way to the top. When he reaches the top, pulling himself over with a yell of rage, he sees his sister darting across the long length of the slab. He unsheathes his sword and follows in a berserker's rage.

She has his sister pinned down, but when she hears his footsteps, she hauls Wren up and pins a knife against her throat.

"Bitch," he snarls.

She cocks her pretty little head. "I'd be more polite if I were you."

"What are you going to do, Five? You kill her, you know I'll have your head off in the next instant."

Her green eyes blaze with a rabid fury. "You can try."

"Your stepfather," Helio says. "You killed him." It isn't a question.

She bares her teeth. "You don't know what he did to me!"

Helio is frantically stalling for time. Wren's eyes are closed. She looks so fragile. He just wants to tear her from the grasp of this girl and fly her home to District 11.

"Who else did you kill?" Helio asks.

"Gavin from One. The victor." Her lips curl into a savage smile.

Helio takes a deep breath. "Let go of her now, and I won't kill you."

She shakes her head. "There's eight of us left. There is no more time for mercy."

"Let. Go. Of. My. Sister. Now."

"Helio," Wren murmurs.

"Quiet," Ptarmigan hisses. The moonlight has bleached all color from her face. "They're coming."

Helio hears the buzzing before they descend, a flock of miniature metallic birds. He throws up his sword to protect himself. They'll be pecked to shreds.

Wren is screaming. Helio turns through the fray and sees that Ptarmigan is using his sister as a human shield. Rage boils in his stomach. He swings his sword viciously, and a dozen birds plummet from the sky. He tugs his sister from Ptarmigan's grasp. But the District 5 girl is wily and quick. Waiting till Helio is distracted by the maelstrom of tiny birds, she shoves him over the edge.

OOOOOOOOO

Time stutters to a halt. Wren opens her mouth to scream, ignoring the birds in her hair. Ptarmigan watches, her green eyes utterly calm. Helio's eyes turn to stone. Slowly, so slowly, as if he were moving through molasses, his large brown hand wraps around Ptarmigan's thin white ankle. The birds twitter and buzz, and Ptarmigan is pulled off her feet, down with Helio.

And then time races forward, and Wren screams, the sound splintering the night, and Helio yells his sister's name one last time, and the last thoughts circles through Ptarmigan's head, and then comes the impact with the ground, and the two cannons.

Wren fights the birds off as best she can. She is no warrior. She is a simple girl from District 11 whose brother died to save her. But she makes the last choice of her short life, and she goes down fighting.

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Anna Vireo, **age 17, District 1 and her father **Gavin Vireo, **age 38

**Seraphim Elysium, **age 15,District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium, **age 15

**Lucia Waltz, **age 13,District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham, **age 13

**Chelsea Hamilton, **age 16,District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton, **age 35

**Ptarmigan Elling, **age 15,District 5 and her stepfather, **Nikolas Elling, **age 46

**Elena Larch, **age 14,District 7, and her father **Jack Larch, **age 50

**Mayva Perry, **age 18,District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill, **age 18

**Rafael Ortega, **age 60, District 10, Paloma's grandfather

**Wren, **age 14,District 11, and her brother **Helio, **age 20

**Ash Collins, **age 15,District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins, **age 12

**The Survivors:**

**Anthem Redpath, **age 18,District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath, **age 19

**Oriole Whittaker, **age 16, District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker, **age 14

**Paloma Ortega, **age 12, District 10

**Thank you all so much for your reviews! They mean so much to me!**


	30. Ashes

Henry's shoulders shake with his sobs. I don't know how to comfort him. I realize I'm gripping my staff so tight that my fingertips are turning purple. I thrust it aside and crouch beside Henry.

"Don't touch me!" he rasps, shaking me off.

"Henry…"

"No. This is your fault!"

I suck my breath in. "Henry, these are the Hunger Games. Everyone dies. You know that."

Tears are streaking down his face. A month ago, my brother would rather have died than cry on national television.

"No! If you didn't break off the alliance, they wouldn't have died."

I rock back on my heels. "Or maybe we would have died with them." I jab at the sky, though their faces have long since faded. "Ptarmigan. She died too. She was probably trying to kill them. She might have killed us."

"Or we could have saved them. All four of us."

"And then what, Henry? We survive, she dies? What if it comes down to the four of us? Only one district can win, kiddo."

Paloma—I'd forgotten she was here—glides silently to her feet. "I think I should go," she whispers, shrouded in shadow.

My heart is shattering. How do the victors survive this agony? How can Lucas smile and laugh knowing his survival meant twenty-three deaths?

"Paloma…" I say.

She smiles sadly. A smile like this, one of acceptance of death, one devoid of hope, should not be on a twelve-year-old's face. "_Graciás, _Oriole. And Henry. _Dios les bendice."_

She should take food with her, but we don't have enough to spare. I know, as the darkness devours her slender shape, that I'll never see her again. Except in the sky.

Henry wipes his eyes and sniffles, and with a jolt, I turn back to him.

"Now what?"

That's what I've been asking myself all during the Games. Now what? Who has to die?

I look at my brother, the constellation of freckles on his face, just like mine, his too-big ears, his hazel eyes, his floppy brown hair. He's grown up. It took these Games for me to realize it. It's not just that he's as tall as me. But I would never have believed that my brother would have the strength to turn enemies into friends and cry for them in front of the nation.

"We're going to the end of the stones."

Henry scratches at the ground with a stick. "Why?" he asks dully.

"I don't know. But it's all I've got. The arena means something, I know it does. So we have to follow the stones to the end. We're almost there."

Henry stares at the ground. "She's going to die, isn't she? Soon."

I sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

A pause. It's too dark to see his face anymore.

"I'll take the first watch," he says.

"Okay," I say. I keep seeing Wren's and Helio's faces in my mind and wondering how they died. Was it quick? _Oh, please, let it have been quick. _And I see Paloma turning away from us, walking to her death.

I think of my mother. I've avoided thinking about her and Papa. But she's watching me at home. I can picture her, perched on the couch. Maybe Kestrel and his grandmother are with her. I miss them, too. And Lucas. That note…

But mourning for lost allies and missing family does not make you a victor. So I force all thoughts of the past, present, and future from my brain and lose myself to sleep.

OOOOOOOOOO

I wake to golden sunlight and the sweet sound of chirping birds. A beautiful day, if you ignore the fact that I'm in a fight to the death with my little brother as my only ally.

Day 6 of the Hunger Games.

Henry is awake. I'm shocked. But he's attempting to sharpen his dagger on the stone.

"Hi," I say tentatively.

He doesn't say anything.

I rummage in our bag and procure the heel of a crusty loaf of bread. "Hungry?"

He shakes his head.

Shrugging, I gnaw the end of it. "We better get moving soon. There's five of us left, they're going to try to force us together. We gotta get to the end before that happens." What I'm trying to say is, it's going to be okay, Henry, but these are the Games, and they're vicious and cruel, but we just have to stick together, and I'm so sorry that Wren and Helio died, I was up all night imagining bloody scenes, but it had to be them or us, and we just have to keep going, please forgive me. But I can't. I'm not good at stuff like that. So I tear apart the bread and watch my little brother slip away from me.

I brush the crumbs from my hands. "Alright. Up and at 'em. The Games wait for no man."

Henry stands up listlessly. I sling the pack over my shoulder, tie my staff to my back, and hoist the board.

"Don't look down!" I say cheerfully. Henry makes a rude gesture in my direction. I stick out my tongue. Mature, I know. Hard to believe I'm of Reaping age, right?

We make our nerve-wracking way winding through the arena. The whole time, I'm braced for another cannon.

I'm starving. It's not like we had much food at home, but we are barely eating now. I peek in my bag while waiting for Henry to cross over. We have one roll left. Although my stomach is screaming obscenities at me, I resolve to save it for Henry. After all, he didn't have breakfast.

"That's it," Henry says around noon, stopping so suddenly that I bump into him.

"That's it?" I ask, mouth hanging open. It is it. This is the last stone. Or the first, depending on how you look at it. "Guess we should go down."

Henry looks at me, and I can see his hunger battling with his pride. "I'm _starving," _he says eventually. Wordlessly, I pull the roll from the packs and toss him half.

"Aren't you going to have any?" he mumbles around the bread.

"Not hungry," I lie. "We should get moving. I don't like this waiting."

We scramble down, my shoulders protesting mightily. My scrapes and cuts have not yet healed, and the second battle with the birds has left me much weaker.

I hop off at the bottom, landing on a lush blanket of grass. In front of me, the grass extends for about fifty feet, and then drops over to a cliff. I move to check it out, Henry shadowing me.

"Just a cliff," Henry says, disappointed.

"What did you expect, an army of trained narwhals?" I snap. Absentmindedly, I toss a rock over the edge. Almost immediately, it pops back up.

"What the hell?" Henry yells, ducking aside.

"Language," I remind him. But really, I'm just glad he's talking to me again. Must be the bread. Mama always said the quickest way to a man's heart was through food. "We're on national television. What would Mama say?"

"That we better win the damn thing," Henry retorts. I giggle.

"It's a force field," I tell him. "Like the ones in our apartments so we don't kill ourselves before the fun begins. Useless to us." I stalk back over to the stones, examining the base of the lead stone.

"What are you looking for?" Henry asks nervously.

I sigh. "Don't make fun," I warn him.

"What?" he demands.

"Remember, when we were little, what Papa made us that one winter when it was too cold to go outside and we were cooped up all day long?"

Henry screws his face up as he remembers. "Oh! The little flat wooden people! And we'd stand them up next to each other and then knock them over and try to see what patterns we could create."

"I was the best," I remind him.

"I was five! What could I do?"

I roll my eyes. "_Anyways, _I think that's what the stones are. They're dominoes. So if we knock this one over…"

"…The rest will all fall down," Henry finishes. "But how do we knock this over?"

"I don't know," I say, poking at the base. "There's got to be something."

We spend the rest of the day desperately trying to make an enormous stone tip over. Oddly enough, it's harder than it looks. As the stones begin to cast long shadows across the ground, Henry flops against the stone.

"I'm tired. And hungry. How are we going to do this?"

I take a long swig of water and pass him the rest of our roll, the last of our food, ignoring the pains in my own stomach. But with any luck, the Games will be over tonight, and we won't be needing the roll.

I know we need to keep going, but I'm exhausted, the sheer stress of these six days smothering me. The sky begins to bleed pink and orange. Soon the anthem will play. I guess everyone's still alive.

After a bit, I pick myself up, cursing every soul in the Capitol in my head, and pick some more at the stone.

"Oriole?" Henry says.

"Mmm?" I ask, swearing like a sailor in my head at this stupid stone and my lazy brother.

"Don't turn around. But you might want to hurry up."


	31. Collapsed

She should be there. She should be scooping them in her arms, safe and sound. She watches her son's bony shoulders shake as he cries for his lost friends. She watches her daughter survey the arena with narrowed eyes, constantly looking over her shoulder. She should have been there to stop them from taking her children. But after _he _left, it was easier not to have been there. To pass them off to the neighbors, leaving her alone with tortured thoughts of why her loving husband could have left her. It's no excuse. She tried, she did, but they are in the arena, not her. So she'll never know about the rebellion that lured her husband away, or know the thoughts in her children's heads as the Games twist their very beings. She's here. They're not.

OOOOOOOOOOO

The sound of the cannons last night shook Henry to his very core. And then seeing their faces—her face—in the sky was the worst kind of torture. He is barely holding on in these Games. He has to focus on Oriole's back, the way her tangled auburn hair swishes against her jacket, as they cross the stones. If he looks away from his sister, he will remember, and he will fall.

OOOOOOOOOOO

"No. Please no. God, no. Please. Aimee, we have to do something. Aimee, how the hell can you just watch this?!" He slams his fist against the counter, sending the windows rattling. Aimee presses her lips together tightly.

"Lucas," she begins, nervously smoothing down her blonde hair.

"I will not fricking calm down! We have to _do _something!" Rage bubbles through him till he thinks he will be consumed. Last year, it was quick. Over right away, and he mourned and cursed the Capitol and went home to try to forget and to pretend he wouldn't have to do it again. And this year, he thought it would be just as fast, and he would remember the girl and her brother in the Victor's Village, alone. But they didn't die, they survived, and dammit, he lost all reason. Let himself take that one conversation on the balcony and stretch it into a happy future.

"We. Have. No. Money."

He watches Aimee's perfect pink lips move, but he doesn't hear a word she's saying. He turns to the screen in horror.

Fire blazing, sparks flying. Henry is doubled over, choking on ash, as Oriole, her face smeared with ash desperately pounds at the rock holding the stone in place.

"Dammit, Aimee! They're going to die!"

"They could run," she says helplessly. But they both know their tributes aren't going to run.

Lucas pushes past her and out the doors of their room, down into the vast gilded ballroom where the Capitol elite are gathered. Heads turn as the young mentor emerges.

"Aurelia," he says, stepping in front of a golden-haired woman. "Aurelia, please."

"Oh, Lucas," she sighs. "Really?"

"Please." Desperation is etched on his face, and his heart is pounding. This is ten times worse than being in the arena himself. _What's happening what's happening what's happening? _Every moment he delays, the fire is getting closer. What if he returns just to find his tributes—gone?

"Lucas, I-"

"No," he snaps. "No, that's not good enough. I need the money." Heads are turning, but he presses on. "They're going to die. You bet on them, Aurelia, I know you did. So give me some money so I can save them, and double your bet, 'cause I know they're going to win."

Silently, she draws out some folded bills with her elegant fingers. He tips an imaginary hat towards her direction—futilely hoping to salvage his image as the charming young victor- and sprints away. Frantically, he punches the buttons on the screen while Aimee watches silently. There—a crowbar. That'll do. No time for a message, though there's so much he wants to say.

Slumping in his chair, drained of adrenaline, he watches the fragile parachute descend into the inferno. Henry's eyes brighten, and he sprints towards the silken bundle. He tosses the crowbar to his sister. She knows what to do. And then the stones fall down.

OOOOOOOOOO

The arena shakes. The audience gasps. The tributes scatter. The world is ending.

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Anna Vireo, **age 17, District 1 and her father **Gavin Vireo, **age 38

**Seraphim Elysium, **age 15,District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium, **age 15

**Lucia Waltz, **age 13,District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham, **age 13

**Chelsea Hamilton, **age 16,District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton, **age 35

**Ptarmigan Elling, **age 15,District 5 and her stepfather, **Nikolas Elling, **age 46

**Elena Larch, **age 14,District 7, and her father **Jack Larch, **age 50

**Mayva Perry, **age 18,District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill, **age 18

**Rafael Ortega, **age 60, District 10, Paloma's grandfather

**Wren, **age 14,District 11, and her brother **Helio, **age 20

**Ash Collins, **age 15,District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins, **age 12

**The Survivors:**

**Anthem Redpath, **age 18,District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath, **age 19

**Oriole Whittaker, **age 16, District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker, **age 14

**Paloma Ortega, **age 12, District 10


	32. Dominoes

I stand, transfixed, as the stone topples down. For a brief moment, it's suspended in the air. Then, with an unearthly crash, it slams into the next stone.

"Oriole!" It's Henry. I turn, numbly, to face my brother. His face is streaked with soot. "We have to go!" he says wildly. When I don't move, he tugs my hands and runs, pulling me after him.

We stumble amidst the aisles, managing to outrun the falling stones. There must be miles upon miles of the twisted rows of stone dominoes. The fire licks at our heels. I know we're being forced into a confrontation. Anthem and Patrick. How ironic that it comes down to them. They turned me down when I asked for an alliance.

I hear a heartbreaking scream and turn, wildly searching among the flames. And then I see her, Paloma, not strong enough to outrun the falling stones.

"Oriole? We can't stop! What are you doing?" Henry jerks my hand.

The stone hits Paloma, and she goes flying through the air, soaring weightless for a heartbeat.

I run to her. I'm not sure why. Maybe I've finally cracked after six days in the Games. But I ignore the sparks, leaping over fallen stones, to reach her small crumpled body. She's still alive.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I am so, so sorry."

She shakes her head. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth. She tries to say something, but I can't understand her.

"Please forgive me," I beg. I don't cry. I can't. Maybe the flames have vaporized all my tears.

Her cannon sounds as her head slumps. She's dead. I killed her.

"Oriole!" It's Henry, shaking my shoulders. Oriole, we have to go!"

I let him pull me up and pull me through the arena. I can hear the thunderous sounds of the stones crashing around me.

Then, all of a sudden, the fire sizzles to a halt. I stop, looking around. We're at the waterfall. The waterfall we met Helio and Wren at to begin our alliance, and the waterfall Paloma's grandfather was killed at.

I slowly slide my staff off my back. We're about to have some company.

"You know, I would have never believed it would be you two."

It's Patrick, sliding through the vines. I never looked at him, but I see him now. Deathly handsome, with short black hair, green eyes, and a heartbreaking smirk. His face has a few days' worth of stubble on it.

"I feel the same way," I say coolly, moving in front of Henry.

"Isn't this interesting, though? It's us. No Careers. Just two ordinary pairs of siblings."

"You're killers," I snap.

His green eyes narrow. The waterfall gurgles in the background. "I did what had to be done. We killed two Careers—is that cruel? They would have killed us given half a chance. And the old man—that was a mercy. Others would have dragged it out. And I heard a cannon—that must be the little girl."

Patrick doesn't accuse me. He doesn't need to.

"Where's your sister?" I ask.

"Why would I tell you that?"

I shake my head. "I just want to go home." Another crash. It's getting closer. Soon the stones around us will tumble down, and if we don't move, we'll be crushed.

I can hear Henry's terrified breathing behind me as I scan the shadows amidst the stones. Where is Anthem?

Patrick's handsome face is bathed in shadow now, and the Capitol anthem softly plays. I look up, involuntarily, and my eyes meet Paloma's.

Henry screams, and I whip around. Anthem leaps down from the stones as my brother falls to the ground.

"What did you do?" I cry. And then Patrick attacks. I raise my staff just in time to deflect the blow from his spear.

Another thunderous crash.

I twist my staff around and slam it into Patrick's head. He stumbles back with a curse and jabs his spear at me. I dart out of the way, ignoring the roaring sensation of hunger in my stomach. I'm weak and dazed.

Henry screams again, and I turn to see him flailing in the pool by the waterfall. Anthem is poised above him with her knife, a nervous expression on her pretty face. I don't stop to think. I swing my staff, catching Anthem behind her knees and sending her into the pool. Henry clambers out, dripping and cursing.

A searing pain blossoms in my side. Fighting Anthem gave Patrick enough time to slash me in my side. I snarl, teeth bared, and shove him back with a brutal blow from my staff. Another stone falls. I cannot go on much longer. My shoulders are screaming with pain, my ankle is throbbing from when I twisted it, and I'm exhausted from the torture of the Games.

I fend off Patrick as best I can. He must have gotten good sponsors—he seems as strong as ever, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Behind me, I hear grunts and gasps as Henry and Anthem battle, but I can't afford to turn around.

Patrick stabs me in the calf and I scream in pain, stumbling to the ground. He raises his spear for the death blow, and I bring my staff up at the last moment to counter it. My staff is locked against his spear and we grapple for a moment. But he's three years older than me and so much stronger. My arms collapse, and the spearhead scratches my face. Time grinds to a halt as the blade nears my throat.

No.

No, I'm not going to die. I am going to win, and I am going to live. I will get up, and I will defeat Patrick. I will take Henry's hand, and we will be the victors.

I realize that Patrick and Anthem aren't that different from Henry and me. Siblings, thrown together in the Games, now forced to rely on each other to make it back home. They aren't our enemies. But my newfound sympathy for Patrick quickly wanes as the spearhead inches downwards.

With my last bit of strength, I kick my feet upwards, shoving Patrick in the chest. I spring to my feet, readying my staff.

And then the stone above us begins to fall.


	33. Crushed

Oddly enough, it's at this point when Lucas feels a deadly calm. It was this way during his own final battle two years ago. He can still remember every bit of it: the sweat shining on the other boy's face, the way the wheat field whispered around him, the sun in his eyes, the weight of the scythe in his hand, the crimson blood spurting from the other boy's throat.

Now he watches Oriole and Henry fight their own battle. His eyes narrow as he analyzes their moves, chanting insults towards the District 6 kids under his breath. Aimee rolls her eyes at him, but he stays focused on the screen.

They're going to win.

He knows it. He can see it in their eyes. Henry's are wide open, filled with the animalistic need to survive. Oriole's are narrowed as she duels the District 6 boy.

"C'mon," he whispers, trying to ignore the ominous rumbles of falling stones. "Smack 'em into last week! My grandmother could fight better than that!"

"Lucas," Aimee says softly.

He doesn't really mean it, but how the hell is he supposed to watch this? They never told him what the price of winning was.

OOOOOOOOO

Her dark hair streams out behind her as she runs, and she is free, free, free as a bird. And then there is a loud crash, and she runs even faster. She stumbles, and suddenly she realizes how trapped she really is. She was never going to win. She isn't fast enough, and the breath is knocked out of her, and then she is weightless as she flies in front of the entire nation. She doesn't feel the landing, but she senses the girl from 9, her brief ally, standing by her, her dark red hair tangled in the wind, and the words won't come out, and then there is light, blinding light, a cannon boom that is replaced by sweet singing, and maybe it's her grandfather. Maybe she's home.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Sobs fill the little house in District 9. Kestrel perches awkwardly on Oriole's rocking chair as he watches his best friends fight to the death. Emily Whittaker is cocooned on the couch, her slight body racked with sobs. His grandmother strokes her back.

They're going to win, Kestrel tells himself. He tugs on a piece of his dirty blonde hair. They got this far. They're smarter and tougher.

Bits and pieces of blissfully ignorant childhood days float in Kestrel's memory. Playing in the creek, fighting with wooden swords, playing tricks on the other kids, painting their faces with the juice from crushed petals, laughing together.

Those days are gone. Emily lets out a gasp as the District 6 boy's blade scrapes Oriole's arm. Suddenly, he can't take it anymore. He sprints out of the house into the cool night air, the stars twinkling coldly above, and retches on the ground.

OOOOOOOO

All that's left is to win. Patrick comes from a family with no money and no pride. He feels the last dregs of his human compassion draining away as he battles the District 9 girl. All he feels is his desperate desire to go home. Adrenaline thrums in his veins, his heart skittering as he weaves and strikes.

He knows he's stronger than she is. He pulls his lips back into a savage snarl as his spear shaft locks with her staff. His muscles bulge as he forces the girl down.

He hesitates for one moment as the faces of his victims flicker at the edges of his memory. They all had the same expression just before they died.

Patrick is not a killer. But the Games shattered any noble intentions he might have had. His hands shake as he guides the spear down to her throat.

OOOOOOOOO

Oriole screams, and Henry jerks his head up. Anthem takes advantage of this and punches him in the face. He'd taken quite a beating from the stronger girl, but his wounds melt away as he sees Patrick lying on the ground struggling to get up.

"Behind!" Oriole shrieks, her eyes wild. Henry follows her finger to see the stone above them teetering. He swears and sprints away, Oriole at his heels. He is dimly aware of Anthem helping her brother up.

Oriole mutters curses under her breath. They are almost at the edge of the stone; just a little bit more and they'll be out of the way. And then Oriole screams as she is jerked backwards, her ankle caught by Anthem's desperate lunging hand. Patrick is staggering forward to join them.

It's all on him, but there's no time to think. Anthem's grabbing her knife. And then Henry remembers the crowbar sent from the sky, the crowbar they used to start the domino fall. He whips it out of his pack and crashes it over Anthem's head. Her pretty green eyes roll back as she collapses.

"I did it," he whispers in numb amazement. But there's no time to celebrate. Oriole scrambles to her feet and yanks him onwards. So close, but the stone is less than twenty feet above their heads now, and tipping with alarming speed. Henry sucks his breath in and keeps running.

OOOOOOOOO

The arena is smothered in shadows. Oriole fumbles through, her heart racing. Behind the fleeing siblings, Patrick is pumping his arms in a desperate all-out sprint. He'll never make it. And definitely not if he stops to help his sister who is feebly stirring on the ground.

Oriole turns her attention ahead. They're not going to make it either. What happens if there is no victor?

"Oriole," Henry gasps, his eyes feral with fear. Oriole ignores him. They have to keep going.

They're not going to make it.

Keep going, keep going.

Not going to make it.

Oriole screams in frustration as she launches herself forward, tackling her brother. They land in the aisle. Just barely.

She clutches her brother as they hear a scream quickly cut off, then two quick cannons.

"Oriole," Henry whispers. She shakes her head.

"May I present to you the winners of the 38th Annual Hunger Games, Oriole and Henry Whittaker!"

"Oriole," Henry says urgently.

A hovercraft descends. They're going home.

"Oriole, your foot."

She looks down. Her left foot is crushed under the stone. She never felt a thing, but seeing it, the pain tears at her like a rabid dog.

She stays conscious as Capitol medics perform a quick amputation after dosing her with morphling, clutching Henry's arm so tightly that her nails leave half-moon shaped gouges. She stays conscious during the hovercraft ride, looking down at the stones still falling in the arena. She stays conscious as the hovercraft lands, Henry clearly nauseous at the bumpy landing. But as she tries to get up, though Capitol medics rush over and grab her arms, the events of the Game crash over her, and she tumbles down into a dreamless sleep. It's over. And it's just beginning.

**The Dead and the Gone:**

**Anna Vireo, **age 17, District 1 and her father **Gavin Vireo, **age 38

**Seraphim Elysium, **age 15,District 2, and her twin **Sartorius Elysium, **age 15

**Lucia Waltz, **age 13,District 3 and her cousin **Alvin Cunningham, **age 13

**Chelsea Hamilton, **age 16,District 4, and her uncle **Rhett Hamilton, **age 35

**Ptarmigan Elling, **age 15,District 5 and her stepfather, **Nikolas Elling, **age 46

**Anthem Redpath, **age 18,District 6, and her brother **Patrick Redpath, **age 19

**Elena Larch, **age 14,District 7, and her father **Jack Larch, **age 50

**Mayva Perry, **age 18,District 8, and her boyfriend **Marcus Twill, **age 18

**Paloma Ortega, **age 12, District 10, and her grandfather **Rafael Ortega, **age 60

**Wren, **age 14,District 11, and her brother **Helio, **age 20

**Ash Collins, **age 15,District 12, and her brother **Peat Collins, **age 12

**The Survivors:**

**Oriole Whittaker, **age 16, District 9, and her brother **Henry Whittaker, **age 14

**Please, tell me what you think! The last update will be coming out soon.**


	34. Crowns

"Oriole? It's me. Your brother. You know, the one who you tried to trick into playing under the combine thresher? Please wake up. Please. Oriole, you have to wake up. If you don't wake up, I'm taking your rocking chair. And all of your desserts. Please. I'll never forgive you if you don't wake up. Please! Wake up, damn it! Please, I'll do anything! I won't put worms in your food or draw mustaches on you when you sleep. Please! We won, damn it. It's not fair. PLEASE!"

OOOOOOOOO

Eyes open. Harsh light. It stings. And my foot—my left foot is on fire. Can't move. What the hell is going on? White sheets. Where are my clothes? Henry. Henry. What happened? Whathappenedwhathappenedwhat happened?

"Oriole!"

Suddenly, my lungs work, and my chest shudders as I draw in a breath. Henry tackles me in a hug. We're alive. We did it.

"Oriole, you didn't wake up, and they said you were going into shock because of your foot, and it wasn't fair because we won, and you saved me, and it couldn't end like this, because I can't do this without you, but you woke up! You woke up!"

He's beaming. My cheeks are wet for some reason.

"We won," I say softly.

Henry beams. "We did. I never thought we could."

"I always knew we could." And I did. I was never going to let my little brother die.

"You've got a bionic foot now," he says. I shift aside the sheets and am greeted with a flash of steel. My mind jolts back to the mechanical birds in the arena. But they're gone.

"Try moving it," Henry urges. How do I move something that isn't part of me? But I screw up my face and will my foot to move. The steel toes twitch.

Henry is staring at me with something like awe. "You gave your foot to save me."

I shrug. "Rip-off, huh? At least I can say I'm part robot now."

"No, you saved my _life."_

I don't want to think about those last few frantic seconds when my life was pulsing in my throat and we were one step away from death. We could have died, so easily. When I think about it, my heart falters and my hands twitch and I think about how fragile our bodies are, how they can so easily just _end._

"Henry." I don't know what to say.

The door opens, and in come the Capitol doctors. Bastards. I knew it would happen eventually. We have to be groomed for our crowning as victors. They escort my brother out, as I whisper, "Henry, I would have _died_ to save you."

OOOOOOOOOO

My scars are erased, but every time I close my eyes, I see Paloma flying through the air and hear that one final scream that sealed our victory. I could go insane. I wonder about that. How easy it would be to just let go. Let the Games consume me till I'm a shell of myself. But I can't. I have to endure. I'm a victor, and this is my curse.

OOOOOOOOOO

They've made me pretty again, curled my hair, dusted my face with makeup, but I'm not the same. I'll never be. I have a simple black dress, with oriole feathers woven in the base of my skirt. I don't know what getup they put Henry in. He'll hate it, whatever it is, but despite myself, I like my dress. I feel tough. Ready to face the Capitol.

There's a knock at the door, and the stylists flurry over to open it. And there he is. Lucas. He rubs the back of his neck shyly.

"You look…"

"Don't say beautiful," I warn him. "I'm not beautiful anymore." One stylist tuts in the background, but I ignore her.

"I was going to say badass." He hesitates, staring at me. "I missed you," he says softly.

"What did I do?" I ask him. "How do I keep going?"

Lucas swallows. "I don't know. You just have to push forward. You can't let the past consume you, or they've really won."

"How did you do it?"

"Last year," he says so quietly that I have to lean in close, "last year, I almost killed myself. It was my first year as a mentor."

"Why didn't you?" The door closes as the stylists quietly let themselves out.

"Because I couldn't. That would mean that I wasn't a victor but yet another victim of their sick, twisted Games. We're all the districts have. We owe it to them."

My fingers twine with his. "I haven't known you for long."

His calloused fingers lightly brush my face. "Really? It's been a thousand years since you were Reaped."

"Guess so." I smile faintly. "Let's get to know each other, okay? I still have the note." It's in the pocket of my dress now. I pull it out, smoothing the wrinkles. There's the oriole, soaring unfettered across the sky. "For such a good artist, you have atrocious handwriting."

He smiles. His eyes are a warm chocolate brown, flecked with caramel. I feel an odd sense of safety with him.

And then the door bangs open. "Henry!" I cry, stepping back.

His gaze darts between the two of us. Lucas is smirking. "Ohhhh…" he says, wiggling his eyebrows. "I see how it is. I'm watching you, man, okay? That's my sister. Ew. That's my sister. Well, I'll just leave you to it…" He and Lucas bump fists.

"When you can tear yourselves apart, we're supposed to be onstage soon," Henry calls as he twists out the door.

I smooth out the skirt of my dress. "I have a feeling that if I go onstage, I'll just start cursing out the lot of them. Bastards."

"Now _that _I would enjoy seeing."

I shove him, none too gently. "Guess I'd better go. You were an awfully good mentor."

"Really?" Lucas says, brightening.

"No," I say. "But you came through when we needed you."

OOOOOOOOOO

They neglected to inform me that we have a new president. But we do. I hope the old one is burning in hell, and the new one quickly joins him.

Flavia Flint smacks her fuchsia lips together. "Welcome, welcome. And may I present to you the winners of the 38th Annual Hunger Games, Oriole and Henry Whittaker."

Applause. The lights are blinding. But I press my lips into a smile and join hands with Henry. He's sweating like a pig.

The new president skulks over and with his papery hands, places feather-light crowns on our heads. That's it. I'm a victor. Twenty-two people died so I could stand where I'm standing today. I don't regret it. I can't. I did what I had to, to bring Henry home.

We sit down in plush orange chairs to watch twenty-two people die. Rufus Magnolia perches next to us, throwing out inane comments.

Some of the events in the Games I missed. Guess I had better things to do. But there we all are, all twenty-four of us. And before the Games even start, we lose the two from Seven. And slowly, the others are all peeled away. I grip Henry's hand tightly, trying to absorb the pain, when we watch Helio and Wren fall. _It had to be, _I chant in my head. _It had to be so we could live._

And there's the end. My face, blackened with soot, as I start the chain reaction with the stones. Henry flying through the arena, pulling me with him. Paloma's broken fall. The frantic fight. A scream cut off. The end. I flex my new bionic foot as I see the tiny Oriole and Henry on the screen, huddled together, eyes wide, not daring to believe it was over.

It's over.

But it's not. I will live with the Games every day. I will dream of a jungle of stones. When I wake up, the memories will shatter my bliss. When I close my eyes, I will see their faces. I will never forget.

Rufus clears his throat. "First, may I offer my utmost congratulations on winning this odd little Quell."

That's me. I smile. "Thank you. It's an honor to be here. Henry and I are so proud."

"What was your strategy going into the Games?"

"Not die?" I say. The audience titters. "But really, Henry and I were just trying to stick together. We're unstoppable together."

"And I bailed her out a couple of time," Henry chimes in.

I punch him in the shoulder. "You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

Rufus laughs. "Let's talk about the Cornucopia." _Let's not. _But we do. We talk about the Cornucopia, pick apart our alliance, analyze our battles with the birds, and discuss the very end. The audience adores the bickering between Henry and me.

He doesn't mention my bionic foot, ensconced in my boot. I guess I can't appear less than perfect.

"And let's call out the mentors for our victors. Lucas Marsh, winner of the 36th Hunger Games, and Aimee Lydico, winner of the 27th Hunger Games." Aimee's blond hair is blinding. As is Lucas' smile. Henry nudges me. I ignore him.

"So tell me," Rufus says. "How did District 9 produce three victors in three years?"

"Me," Lucas says automatically. "Once I won, everyone else wanted to. What can I say? I'm a trendsetter."

Aimee rolls her eyes. "We're very grateful to our sponsors. And it's hard work and just a pinch of luck."

Rufus smiles. I think he has false teeth. "So who did most of the mentoring?"

"Aimee," Lucas says. "Definitely Aimee. My job was to stand around and look handsome."

"And did he succeed?" Rufus hollers to the crowd. They howl their assent.

Rufus motions for us to stand next to our mentors. Lucas squeezes my hand briefly. He did this. I watched his own interview after his victory. I remember. I was clutching a bowl of oatmeal, arguing with Henry about who had the better view of the television screen. I was fourteen, unaware of what would happen two years hence. But I watched the sixteen-year-old boy with the victor's crown, pinned down by the harsh lights and probing questions. He seemed like he had all the answers. Now I know that he didn't.

"Anything else you want to say?" Rufus asks the four of us. Aimee smiles blandly and shakes her head, already steering Henry offstage. My pulse is pounding. And before I know it, I've grabbed Lucas, pulling him towards me in a desperate kiss.

Everything else grinds to a halt. All I know is that Lucas' lips are on mine, and we're kissing. It's just the two of us. We're not tributes or victors.

He's startled at first, but he responds enthusiastically, sweeping me off my feet. And I'm soaring with him, and we're finally free.

I don't ever want to land.


	35. Returned

Kestrel's heart is about to give out. He wants to run screaming through the streets until he's hoarse. They won! They're coming back!

Emily Whittaker is curled up on the couch, her shoulders shaking as Kestrel's grandmother strokes her back. Kestrel is shaking with joy as he watches the crowns laid on their heads.

A knock sounds on the door. Kestrel doesn't want to tear his eyes from the glorious sight of his friends as victors, but at one look from his grandmother, he's on his feet, plodding to the door.

"Mayor Tufts," he stutters in surprise. The mayor smiles, his bald patch gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

"Hello, Kestrel, is it?"

"I'm the neighbor," he explains.

The mayor nods. "I came to offer my congratulations."

Kestrel remembers his manners. "Oh. Right. Uh, you can come in."

His grandmother's managed to keep the house relatively neat, but in the final days, all of them were cemented to the television. The mayor hums to himself as Kestrel leads him back to where his grandmother and Emily are gathered around the television.

"Uh, the mayor's here," Kestrel says. His grandmother surveys the plump Mr. Tufts with beady eyes.

"Welcome," she says at last.

The mayor gulps. "I came to offer my most sincere and hearty congratulations. District 9 is so proud."

"You mean grateful for more food and another year's safety for their children," his grandmother corrects him.

The mayor blushes. "Ah…"

She sniffs. "I am too."

The mayor bounces on the balls of his feet. "It's a joyous day," he says finally. "But I can only imagine the suffering that preceded it. I wish you could have been spared it."

Emily Whittaker wipes her eyes. "Why did they have a Quell? It's not a Quell year."

"Now listen," Mayor Tufts says. "I'm not supposed to be talking about this. It's Capitol business."

"I think we of all people have a right to know," Kestrel says quietly.

The mayor jerks towards him, clearly having forgotten Kestrel's presence. "Ah…" he says. "Well, you see, there were rumblings. Not quite uprisings, but enough to make the Capitol uncomfortable. And now there won't be a rebellion for many more years."

"So we celebrate," Kestrel's grandmother says darkly, "And among those who celebrate are the two children who will be Reaped next year."

"I really must go," the mayor says helplessly.

"Then go," Emily says. On the screen, Oriole and Henry are laughing together. The mayor sighs and waddles out.

OOOOOOOOOO

Ten million fireworks, an ocean of stars. Lucas can't believe he's kissing Oriole Whittaker in front of all of Panem. He can't believe that she's even alive. But in a million tiny coincidences, twists of fate, they're on this stage. He's found someone that understands him, knows why he can't go to sleep without stepping into the arena again, realizes that he is alive only because twenty-three children are dead.

It's amazing that she's back. She came through. The Games didn't destroy her. She's here, her waist under his hand, her hair tangled on his face, her lips on his. She's still _Oriole. _

He wants a lifetime with this girl, a lifetime to know her and grow with her. Maybe they'll get it.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Henry peeks out from between his fingers. They've finally stopped. Phew. The audience is on their feet, screaming their names. Lucas looks like he's been hit by a train. Oriole is beaming. She blows a kiss to the audience and saunters offstage, pulling Lucas with her.

"What the _hell?" _Aimee whispers through clenched teeth once they're offstage.

"Guess I'm just _that _irresistible," Lucas quips.

She huffs. "At least they've enjoyed it. District 9 has won their hearts."

"Ew," Henry informs Oriole.

"Shut up," she replies. Her cheeks are pink.

Henry straightens up and turns to Lucas. "It's my duty as her brother to tell you that if you hurt her, I'll hurt you."

Lucas nods solemnly. "Point taken, man. But I think your sister can fight her own battles."

Oriole laughs. "Henry, he's twice your size."

"One and a half," Henry argues. She's happy. Hopeful. It's so good to see. They survived the Games relying on each other. They can survive the aftermath the same way.

"Whatever. Besides, I'm holding out hope that my new toes can shoot lasers."

"And Kestrel can help," Henry chimes in.

"You told me about him," Lucas says warily, turning to Oriole.

"My neighbor. My other brother," she says brightly. "Now _he's _certainly grown a lot. He's fifteen, but he's built like an ox."

Henry snickers at the expression on Lucas' face. "We're going home. You can meet him."

Home. He can't wait. Maybe then, he'll feel whole. Talking with Oriole and Lucas, he feels like a part of a fragile play. They're all pretending they're not victors.

OOOOOOOOO

As the train pulls into station, smoke billowing in its wake, the people of District 9 are singing and shouting. Both of their children have returned. Mayor Tufts waits on stage, fiddling with his bowler cap. Emily Whittaker, supported by Kestrel and his grandmother, tears trickling down her face, stands as still as stone. In the mass of people, Lacey Trylle squeezes her hands together and wonders if Henry will still be the same boy she kissed behind the schoolhouse. Across the nation, in the depths of District 13, Mr. Whittaker thinks, for the millionth time, of the family he left behind.

The doors glide open. Vidia Deeps, the escort, prances out, her hair the color of the sky. Next comes Aimee, proud and regal, and then Lucas, looking sheepish yet excited. And then the children, the victors, fly out. Fly home.

**So that's the end. I hope you enjoyed the story. These characters may appear again, though :)**


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